


Ugly Sweater !Verse

by nerdylittledude



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 03:25:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 183,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>[Reposting as one AO3 entry for easier reading/downloading]</b>
</p><p>Please leave all comments/kudos on the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/24368">original work</a>! <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Subtle Shift in the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the prequel to the entire Ugly Sweater ‘Verse – everything that came before. It’s how the apocalypse never happened, it’s how Sam met Sarah, it’s how Dean ended up living with Cas in a tiny studio apartment in Media, Pennsylvania. Dean and Cas are not in love. There are no ugly sweaters. It’s everything before.
> 
> [This prequel was written months and months after the series started and the story still completely makes sense if you skip this part! If the angst is too much, you can pass right on onto the fluff]

**The story begins just as Sam jumps into the pit in Swan Song.**

_“_ _It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay.”_  
  
As soon as Dean hears these words, he knows without a fraction of a doubt that he will never be okay again. His face has been pummeled in; his left eye is so caked with blood that he can't open it. Now he's hearing his  _brother's_ voice, not some sick possessed version overcome by Satan— _his brother's voice_ , and it should be comforting... but it's not. Nothing could be further from the truth. His face is burning from the pain but it cannot begin to compare with the lump in his throat and the broken, battered thrum of his heart. He can feel his pulse beating in his ears.  
  
Up until this moment, up until the subtle switch between an archangel in control of Sam's body and Sam himself, hope existed. His brother's voice now tells Dean otherwise. Hope has snapped in two. It's ironic, really—they have what they wanted. They have the ending they had set their sights on, the ending they'd made the gamble for. Sam has enough control now to jump into the pit. Sam's carried through. Dean should be at least a little happy. They've won. If not happy, at least a little satisfied.  
  
But he's not.  
  
Because, in this moment, it hits him with the force of a truck: Sam is really going to do this. Sam is going to jump into a hole that will swallow him in  _eternal_ torment, suffering that will last centuries past Dean's time. There's no going back. If Sam had failed—if Lucifer had won, beat Michael and kept control of Sam's body—well, Sam would still be there. Sam could still be within reach, even if he was deep within the confines of a powerful being. Dean could fight for him, could _find_ a way to free his brother. Even if the world was falling down around them, Dean could save his little brother.  
  
That was the only hope Dean needed, really. Save the world, let it burn... at the end of the day Dean is nothing if not Sam's big brother. That's his job.  
  
 _“It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay.”_  
  
Dean's watching as Sam—with only the sheer will of his mind and his heart—saves the world. It almost unfolds like a movie and Dean can barely breathe. His brother falls into the abyss and Michael follows. For a split moment, Dean thinks of Adam, the injustice of it...but it doesn't matter to him. Not really. Certainly not  _now_.  
  
And then it's over. Just like that, the hole is gone and the world is devoid of scars, lacking any indication that the apocalypse came and went. Dean falls to his knees. There is no initial shock; there is no momentary lapse in pain. It all rushes to him at once. He sobs.  
  
The intended battlefield is empty. There is no Cas, there is no Bobby. Not a single living creature for miles is there to comfort him. Then it hits him, too, that he is _alone_. He doesn't have his angel or his old drunk. He's just a lost, tired man in a big field without a family. He's not a big brother, he's not the Righteous Man, he's not a son.  
  
Dean Winchester is nothing.

 

 

 

 

… And then, suddenly, he is again.

“Dean!” comes a hoarse voice from across the field, that of someone gasping for breath. It’s not the voice he wants desperately to hear – but it’s familiar, and it’s something. It’s _Cas_.

Dean can barely see through the puffiness of his wounded face, bruises forming bright black and blue – but he’d know that deep voice anywhere. He squints in its direction and catches sight of Cas. He tries to convince himself to care, to revel in this miracle, to latch onto the only family he has left – to do  _something_  - but Sam is gone and Dean is broken.

That’s when he looks a little harder, and his breath catches in his throat.

Cas is covered in blood, his trench coat soaked with it… but that’s not what gets Dean to his feet, what has him running the field like a football star. It’s – it’s Sam, and Cas is struggling to hold him up. He’s been staggering toward Dean, but he’s clearly gravely injured. Sam’s unconscious, with his arm draped over Cas’ shoulder, all his weight on the angel. He’s bleeding, too, and there are wounds all over his chest. When Dean gets close enough to see them, he notices that the wounds are  _everywhere_ , and they are what look like a thousand tiny Enochian symbols engraved into the flesh of his chest. Dean doesn’t understand it or, at this moment, care about it.

“Is he breathing?” Dean demands, and Cas responds with a nod and sways on his feet. Then, his legs buckle under him and he falls – though he manages to keep Sam from falling too hard on the way down. Dean kneels down next to him, grabs Sam’s wrist and takes his pulse. His heart flips when he realizes that, yes, Sam is alive.

“Heal him!” Dean demands in a fierce growl, looking frantically at Cas, who involuntarily spits up a little blood and then looks at his own wounds, which are everywhere. They’re not Enochian, like Sam’s; they’re just bloody lines all over Cas’ flesh, like he’s been stitched back together somehow. Dean can’t tell how deep the wounds go.

“I would have already if I could, Dean,” he says in a whisper, confirming what Dean already knew. “I can’t even heal myself.”

“Alright,” Dean says firmly after a stunned moment, when the gears in his head start to turn again. He has no idea what the hell is going on, but he’s got Sam and he’s got Cas and it’s a fuck-lot more than he had five minutes ago. “I’ll pull the Impala around.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, just looks at Dean as if in a daze.

“Hang in there,” Dean whispers, turning and pausing a moment as he gets up. Cas continues to stare at Dean.

“Me?” he asks dubiously, in a slightly feeble voice which may or may not only sound as such because of his injuries. Dean is somewhat taken aback; he’d been talking to his unconscious brother. After a moment, though, he realizes he’s grateful that Cas was brought back, too. Sammy is the priority – Sam is  _always_ the priority – but Cas is important, too.

“Yes, you,” Dean mutters, like it was his intention all along. He doesn’t stop to look at Cas’ expression before he sprints off to the car.

*

“Jesus, lady, I already told you – I don’t  _know_ what the hell happened to my brother. Get out of my face.”

The nurse holding a clipboard wears an irritated, disbelieving look but she doesn’t persist anymore, just huffs an aggravated sigh and marches out. Dean has been in the position where he’s had to lie to officials – police officers, hospital workers, etc. – more times in his life than he can count. Some of his contrived answers have been clever and well thought out, and others have been as simple as this one – “ _I don’t know”_.

This is the first time that answer has ever been entirely true. He honestly does not even have the slightest idea what – or who – happened to Sammy. Sam and Cas shouldn’t be alive. No logic can be applied here; this makes less sense than Dean’s resurrection almost two years ago. The cuts all over Sam make even less sense. It’s all a big clusterfuck of unanswered questions… but Dean doesn’t care, right now. He could care less.

His brother is alive.

He’s in pretty bad shape though. Dean’s in a hospital room – God, he hates hospitals – with a chair pulled up beside Sam’s bed. Sam is unconscious with wires hooked up all over. He’s got bandages all over his torso, thick white ones that are changed by nurses regularly. He looks very much the worse for wear, but the doctor has assured Dean again and again that his little brother will be alright.

“Honestly, I have no idea how. The amount of blood loss alone…” The doctor had shaken his head, looking more than a little awed. “Let’s just say this – I have been working in this field for a long, long time. I don’t see very many miracles. This is one of them.”

Cas is in the hospital bed on the other side of the room, adjacent to the window. He is, apparently, more of a medical mystery than Sam. Every inch of his flesh from head to toe is covered in those seam-like cuts, like a rag doll. Likewise, he’s covered from head to toe in stitches the doctors promptly got to inserting. The process had taken hours.

The remarkable thing is the placement and nature of each cut. They’re all  _deep_  and cause for major alarm… but none are so deep as to be untreatable. Furthermore, none of the cuts go into major veins or arteries; every single one carefully skirts around these vital areas. Cas surviving is, yet again, a miracle.

What is puzzling the doctors the most, though, is Cas’ healing rate. Of course, Dean is not surprised that Cas is healing up so well… but Cas seems as confused as the doctors over why his wounds are closing up so fast. Granted, it’s not the same as before, when his angel mojo could just seal up the wound like it never happened, but it’s faster than is humanly possible, certainly.

Cas woke before Sam, and Dean’s been grateful for the company. Cas is all drugged up for pain, but he’s more coherent than most would be under such high dosages. He just seems tired, if anything else.

“Why are you so surprised?” Dean asks when Cas is puzzling yet again over his recovery rate. “You’re an angel, dude.”

Cas furrows his brow when he looks at Dean.

“I’m not even sure about that, Dean. I can’t… I can’t feel any trace of my power within me, and I can’t feel heaven anymore. If my powers were stunted before, they’re…” Cas doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Dean understands the word Cas doesn’t want to say.

_Gone._

“Do you know what the marks on Sammy’s chest say? They’re Enochian, right?” Dean asks after they’re both quiet a moment. Cas furrows his brow.

“I haven’t gotten a good look, Dean. He’s been bandaged this whole time. Perhaps if I’m able to stand by the next time his bandages are changed, I can look. I’m not currently in the position to move.”

Dean scowls.

“Can’t you just x-ray vision through the bandages or something?” he says irritably. “This is kind of, y’know,  _important._ We need to know what we’re up against here.”

“I told you, Dean,” Cas responds, and there’s fierceness, almost a growl, that hadn’t been there before. “ _I can’t sense my powers_. I can’t feel anything. I might as well be human. The only things I know I have for sure are my wings, and I can’t use them. I’m powerless.” He says the last part with a bitterness so strong Dean’s not sure what to say.

“You’ve got wings?” Dean asks stupidly after a beat, because what the hell do you say to  _that?_  Dean’s trying to be sympathetic, to not fixate on how Cas’ current state is inconveniencing him. Key word, of course, being ‘trying’.

Cas looks at him like he’s just asked an absurd question. “Of course. How else could I appear at your beck and call whenever you summoned me, all this time?” Again, there is bitterness. Dean wonders, briefly, whether Cas regrets everything, all of it, yet. Dean has a feeling that if Cas doesn’t now, he will. He’ll probably leave, actually. Just as well, though. Dean’s fine if he has Sam.

“You mean your teleport thing is actually wings?” Cas nods.

“Yes. I can fly faster than the human eye can see. Did you never hear the –“

“Oh, the swooshy noise when you pop in and out. Yeah, that’d explain it.”

“Well,” Cas says, his gaze drawn away from Dean to the window, “You’ll probably never hear it again.”

Dean goes from ‘trying to be sympathetic’ to ‘freaking pissed off’ in a nanosecond.

“Oh, well  _boohoo_ ,” Dean says, rife with sarcasm, “Play me a song on the world’s smallest violin. You’re not the one who jumped into hell. And, for the record, my brother’s still unconscious. So as far as I see it, you’ve got it pretty damn good.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, gives Dean the same curious look he’s been giving him since that first time they met, when he’d looked at Dean and summarized his entire existence in one sentence:  _You don’t think you deserve to be saved._

“You’re angry,” Cas says now. It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Hell yeah I am. My brother’s hooked up to every damn machine in this hospital. They won’t tell me when he’s gonna wake up, if he’s-“

“He’s alive, Dean. Be thankful.”

“For how long?” Dean asks – and he realizes that’s the question that’s been eating away at him for hours. He doesn’t expect the way his voice cracks when he asks, and he clears his throat in an attempt to rein back his emotions. “How long until whatever son of a bitch saved him comes back for him? We don’t even know what we’re up against.”

“Ah. I see,” Cas says slowly, as though clarity has come to him, “You’re angry because you’re worried. Because you are Dean Winchester, and you lash out when you’re worried.” He doesn’t sound upset or accusatory at all; he sounds more like someone examining a specimen in a test tube or something. Like he’s finally figuring Dean out.

Dean’s not exactly sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t.

“I’ll keep my complaints to myself,” Cas says, and he lies back down on his bed. He closes his eyes and squeezes his temples with his forefingers and – and holy  _shit_ , if that isn’t the most human gesture Dean’s ever seen him do. And he’s seen Cas sleep, seen him at every stage of falling… but this, this tired gesture, it seems to put everything into perspective.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean says after a while, very quietly – because that’s what he does. Because he’s Dean Winchester, and he may be a dick but one thing he makes sure of is that Sam knows his big brother’s here and everything is going to be okay. He’s deciding here and now, though, that he might include Cas in that, too.

Either Cas has fallen asleep or he’s assumed that Dean is talking to Sam, but he doesn’t say anything in reply.

*

When Sam wakes up, Dean is asleep. It’s about two in the morning, and he’s sitting in a hospital chair pulled up to Sam’s bedside, face cradled in his arms on the mattress. Sam is stiff when his eyes open, and there is a great pain in his chest throbbing steadily, albeit dully, like a drum. His head feels like every hangover he’s ever had has been compounded into one pulsing ache.

But he’s alive.

His first thought is immediate fear; he  _knows_ he’s in hell, knows there’s no way this is real. The cage must be some sort of psychological torture or something, designed to make him think he’s out in order to crush him later. It  _feels_  like reality, though, and it’s throwing him off. The rise and fall of his brother’s back as he sleeps looks exactly as it should, as it always has. Sam’s starting to doubt himself, and he hates himself for it. He should be steeling himself for the inevitable crash, but he can’t help but hope… but then, Sam has always been one to hope.

“Hello, Sam.”

A voice from across the room makes startles Sam out of his thoughts. With a quiet sigh from the sheer pain of the effort, Sam looks over to see Castiel sitting up on his own bed, clad in an ugly hospital outfit and looking very frail. His head is tilted as he looks at Sam, eyes studious and calculating.

“You’re alive?” Sam asks – more like croaks, really; his voice is cracked. Images, memories rush at him. He remembers Castiel throwing an explosive at Michael. He remembers – he remembers Lucifer, with Sam’s own hand, snapping his fingers and blowing Cas into oblivion. Sam shudders, the tremor resonating through his core. Real or not, Sam is shaken by this angel’s appearance and overwhelmed entirely with regret.

Castiel nods. “As are you.”

“How?” Sam asks, because he’s exhausted and he knows that the apology on his lips right now won’t come out at all as convicting if he’s drugged up and half unconscious for it. Assuming this is reality and that the apology will even matter, which Sam continues to doubt.

“I am not sure,” Cas replies, predictably, “but I believe the markings engraved on your chest will explain.”

“Markings?” Sam asks, looking instinctively to his chest, only to find it heavily bound with bandages.  
  
“There are lacerations on your body in the shape of Enochian words. If I’m conscious when they change your bandage again, I’ll try to decipher them.”

“Conscious?”

“Yes. I am heavily drugged and my… sleep. Is erratic.”

“Drugged? – Sleep?” Sam repeats, stunned. He looks over Cas more closely in the dim lighting and sees the angel (– angel? Is he still an angel? –) more bandaged than himself and certainly the worse for wear. There are circles under his eyes and his hair is more of a mess than usual.

“Lucifer killed me,” Cas says, like Sam doesn’t already know, “and it seems someone pieced me back together. That person may have forgotten a few key components, however.”

“Components – like what?” Sam’s head feels aching and addled; his body wants to force him back to sleep, but he fights it.

“My Grace,” Cas responds wearily, matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” Sam says stupidly. He wants to muster up the strength to comfort Cas to tell him they’ll all get through this together... but he’s tired. Terribly and impossibly and indescribably tired. His eyelids flutter and shut.

“Sam?” Cas says, just as Sam’s eye close. Sam is barely able to make the effort of opening one eye.

“Yeah?”

“I am glad you’re okay.”

Sam means to say ‘You too, Cas’, but he’s not entirely sure he’s succeeded. The drugs pumping into his bloodstream through the IV are intent on pulling him under. In a dizzy haze of near-unconsciousness, he vaguely hopes that Cas at least got the idea.

*

“How’s Sam?” Dean asks Castiel the moment he wakes. Castiel is already awake. His eyes are bloodshot from a sleepless night – drugs or not, Castiel is not a being designed for sleep. He looks at Dean with half-lidded eyes. When he speaks, his voice is even deeper and scratchier than ususal.

“Yes,” he replies, “he woke briefly last night.”

“What?” Dean snaps sharply. His tone seems overly loud in wake of the awful pain in Castiel’s head. “Sam got up and you didn’t wake me?”

Castiel comes very close to cringing. His senses are overloading; he wishes very desperately that he could sleep. He looks at the ceiling for a moment and says nothing.

“Cas, what the hell?” Dean prompts.

“My apologies,” Castiel replies quietly, though he is not entirely sure he is in the wrong. “It did not occur to me.”

“Didn’t occur to you?” Dean says disbelievingly, rising to his feet and striding over to Castiel’s side of the room. “My  _brother_ has been comatose for days and it ‘did not occur’ to you to wake me up?”

Castiel feels something very close to a lump in his through. So that’s where that expression originated. He swallows it down and replaces it with anger.

“I am  _tired_ , Dean!” Castiel finally says in a scathing tone that barely sounds like it belongs to him. “I am tired, too! My vessel’s flesh exploded into a thousand misplaced atoms. Jimmy is gone. My Grace is gone. I cannot sleep but desperately need to. I am sorry, Dean. My problems may not be on your radar of importance, but they exist. I am imperfect.”

This effectively shuts Dean up. He stares at Castiel, mute and open-mouthed before he finally clamps his mouth shut.

I’m getting a drink,” he says gruffly and unceremoniously strides out of the room.

It is 8 in the morning, but Castiel does not protest.

*

Cas is asleep when Dean returns, cup of Irish coffee in hand. This is the most content Dean has seen Cas since… forever, really. Since the last time he saw Cas asleep. When this occurs to Dean, something in him churns – possibly, guilt. Before he can analyze this feeling, though, a voice cuts through his thoughts and nothing else matters.

“Dean?”

“Sammy!” Dean says, relief flooding through his system. He puts down his coffee immediately and races to Sam’s side. He ruffles Sam’s hair, like he used to when Sam was young. The smile on his lips is hesitant. A part of him is terrified that this might not be his brother – that it’s just Lucifer fucking with him, or something else entirely. When Sam’s weary eyes meet his, though, his doubt is all but eradicated.

“Are you real?” Sam croaks in a tiny, childish voice, and if he didn’t know it would cause his brother pain, Dean would have pulled him into a hug. Instead, he pushes Sam’s hair back off his forehead, an instinct left over from when Sam was little and sick.

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m real. I’m here,” he says quietly, “You’re gonna be okay.”

Sam shuts his eyes and leans into his brother’s touch.

“I’m afraid this is hell, Dean,” Sam whispers, and Dean can hear his brother’s fear in his voice. “That this might get taken away any minute.”

“No,” Dean says, using his I-Am-The-Oldest-So-I-Know-Everything voice. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Cas is gonna look at the marks on your chest and we’re gonna figure out what happened. I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

A nurse walks in holding a clip board. He raises an eyebrow at Sam and Dean. Dean knows that look – the one where someone is assuming they’re gay for each other. It’s enough to make Dean chuckle.

“Can I help you, Doc?” Dean asks, feeling better now that Sam is conscious and something normal is happening.

“Sam’s bandages need to be changed. I’m going to up his dosage temporarily so he’ll be asleep for it.”

Dean looks instantly panicked.

“He just woke up!” Dean says, glaring at the doctor.

“He needs as much rest as he can get in this state. The fact that he can wake up and have conversation shows his head is probably in good shape. He’ll make a full recovery, but he needs to sleep now.”

Dean bites his lip and looks at Sammy – then at Cas.

“Can we wait til he wakes up?” he asks, jerking a thumb in Cas’ direction. The doctor looks confused.

“Why would it make a difference if this man is awake or asleep?”

“‘This man’ is our friend,” Dean snaps. The nurse appears surprised. He raises the hand not in possession of the clipboard in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize… no one is ever on that side of the room when I do my rounds. I assumed he had no visitors.”

Again, Dean feels something close to guilt, but he pushes it down. He has priorities, after all. Sam is always his priority. Besides, Cas can take care of himself.

“Yeah, well, he does. Me. And he should be awake for this. He needs to see it.”

“What? – most visitors are asked to leave the room when the procedure –”

The nurse shakes his head.

“That one – “Castiel”, is it? – has not been getting enough sleep to sustain his injuries. Let him sleep while he can. Really, sir, I can assure you that the procedure –“

“He doesn’t need sleep, he’s an angel,” Dean snaps.

The nurse stares at him blankly,

“I mean, he’s an angel about these things, always lookin’ out for others, he –“

“No. I’m upping his dosage to jeep him under if we can. We’ll be changing Sam’s bandages in 20 minute. I’ll ask the doctor if you can stay as long as you behave yourself.”

Dean curses under his breath but finally nods and gives the nurse a curt nod and a mumbled thanks.

*

Dean ends up taking a picture of Sam’s wounds on his cell phone. Two nurses and one doctor all look at him with matching expressions each utterly judgmental, but Dean doesn’t care. Cas sleeps through the whole thing, and Dean can’t afford to wait for the wounds to heal up completely in hopes that Cas will be conscious for the next time. The symbols might become indecipherable, and Dean will not abide that.

When Cas wakes, Dean wants nothing more than to pounce and demand a translation, but he tries to listen to his better judgment and not be a  _total_ dick. Instead, he pours Cas a cup of water when he hears the sort-of-angel stirring.

“I figured coffee wasn’t a good idea,” he says with an easy smile that is a little more than half-fake. Cas doesn’t reply, just looks straight at Sam.

“Those bandages are new,” C says. It’s a statement, not a question. “I slept through it. I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Cas’ priorities seem to line up with his own. His smile is more authentic, now. He holds up his cell phone and shakes it, indicating victory.

“No worries, man. I got a picture.”

“Pass it to me, Dean,” Cas says immediately. Dean considers protesting, insisting that Cas take a minute to relax and make sure he’s thinking okay, but he’s too eager. He hands the phone to Cas.

Cas scans the phone with his eyes and Dean hopes for the best. He waits with bated breath as Cas appears to read the same line over and over. It’s nerve-wracking.

“Well?” Dean asks insistently. Cas looks up – and, to Dean’s surprise, there is some shadow of a smile on the otherwise stoic would-be angel’s face.

“It’s a protection symbol – a seal on the Cage.”

“Like one of Lilith’s 66 seals? I thought she broke all of those,” Dean tries to keep his fear down and his voice level.

Cas shakes his head.

“This is a different type of seal. It’s not to keep Lucifer in – it’s to keep everything else out. ‘May no man or any other living thing in Creation pass into this place, save for the beings for which it was crafted.’ The Cage was never meant for mortal souls, Dean. Someone built in a safety mechanism – a seal.”

“So the marks -”

“The seal split Lucifer’s Grace from Sam’s body and soul. It seared through Sam’s flesh when it ripped Lucifer out.”

“So basically you’re saying that this is a no-strings-attached ‘get out of jail free’ card?” Dean asks, crossing his arms – a defensive stance. He’s closing in on himself, disbelief making his muscles taut and his head begin to pound. Winchesters don’t get no-strings-attached  _anything._ The Winchesters are cursed. There’s always a catch.

“It would seem so,” Cas replies, offering the phone back to Dean. Dean doesn’t take it.

“Read it again.”

Cas glares at Dean.

“I already have,” he says tersely, “there’s nothing more than what I’ve told you.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Yeah? Well, what about you? Why are you alive?”

Cas flinches like the question stings – and, well, yeah, Dean thinks he should have phrased it differently. He’s glad Cas is alive; it just makes no sense.

“I’ve stopped questioning it,” Cas says, finally breaking eye contact with Dean and looking out the window. “It’s not as though it hasn’t happened before.”

Cas has a point, but Dean doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

“My brother and you back out of nowhere – at once? Too good to be true. I’ll figure out what’s going on myself. You obviously don’t give a shit.”

Instead of getting angry, Cas just heaves a heavy sigh.

“The apocalypse has been averted. Sam is alive. I…”Cas trails off, as though trying to decide where he fits into the sentence. “You have your best-case scenario, Dean,” Cas concludes, optioning not to complete the sentence altogether.

“There’s a catch. There’s always a catch.”

Cas closes his eyes and leans back against his hospital bed, which is inclined slightly forward.

“Believe whatever you want, Dean. There’s nothing we can do either way. I don’t see why we can’t try to enjoy the calm before the storm – if there is a storm.”

“When the storm comes – and it  _will_ come, it always comes – I want to be ready. No one’s taking Sam again.”

Cas opens his eyes and looks at Dean. He doesn’t say anything; he just  _looks_. Dean feels uncomfortable.

“And you, I mean,” Dean adds awkwardly, because he figures maybe that’s what the look is about. And to Dean’s surprise, Cas laughs. It’s more of a hollow, awful chuckle, really, and the sound feels all wrong. They’re both silent a moment, just looking at each other. Finally, once it’s gone well past the ‘weird’ level, Dean forces an easy smile onto his face.

“You look like Frankenstein, dude,” he says, gesturing to the multitude of stitches all over Cas’ skin.

“I don’t understand that reference,” Cas says blankly. Dean’s laugh is now honest.

“We’re gonna have a monster movie marathon when all this is over,” Dean says, trying to break the tension in the room. It sort of works. Cas’ bitter, kicked puppy look has waned a bit, at least,

“I need rest, Dean,” is all Cas replies. He adjusts the incline of the hospital bed until it’s lying flat. He flicks off the lamp beside his bed and closes his eyes. Dean’s pretty sure Cas is only pretending to sleep, but there’s not much he can do but sit wearily in the chair beside Sam’s bed and wait for his brother to wake up.

*

Six days pass and the “storm” doesn’t come. What does come is a steady recovery from both Sam and Cas. As days pass, they’re awake and alert during the day more and more often. Sam sleeps at night and Cas… tries. Although his wounds are healing, he looks increasingly haggard as time goes on. Dean figures the guy gets about four hours of sleep each night – if that.

The day Sam and Cas are transferred from IC to normal hospital rooms, Dean gets a phone call. His first inclination is to ignore it; no one ever calls unless they need saving, and Dean has no intention of saving anyone today. He happens to glance at the caller ID, though… and his heart drops to his stomach. It’s Jodi Mills. She’s probably calling to inquire about Bobby. Dean doesn’t know how to tell her that Bobby’s dead. Sam looks at Dean and raises his eyebrows in question.

“Jodi,” Dean says in reply to dam’s unspoken inquiry, and tosses it to Sam. Sam answers immediately.

“Hey, it’s Sam.” He replies. Dean sits back in his chair and closes his eyes, squeezing his temples. On the other side of the room, Cas sits up and leans over, curious.

Sam’s expression is pensive and intense as he listens to whatever it is Jodi’s saying. He’s quiet; Dean almost wishes he’d answered the phone himself.

“So he just… showed up?” Sam asks unsurely. “On your doorstep?”

He’s quiet as Jodi responds.

“Is he okay?” – another pause – “Can we see him?” Sam sounds excited, now; he’s sitting straight up and his eyes are bright.

“…Oh. Well, no,” he says after a pause, “Oh. Yeah, I guess not. A couple weeks, yeah.” His expression has faded a bit, but it brightens again at whatever Jodi says next. “That’d be awesome! Yeah, do that. Thanks, Jodi. Thank you.” A pause. “Alright, keep us posted. See ya – hopefully soon.” Sam hangs up after that with a smile on his face. Both Dean and Cas look at him curiously. He’s practically beaming when he says,

“Bobby’s alive.”

*

Apparently Bobby showed up on Jodi Mill’s front porch in about the same condition as Cas was – covered in thin crisscrossing wounds, like some sort of morbid patchwork doll. He’d only managed to stagger forward slightly before falling unconscious in Jodi’s doorway. She’d rushed him to the hospital immediately, and there he’s been ever since. Unlike Cas, Bobby doesn’t have the remnants of angelic healing powers – his recovery has been much slower. Only recently has he been awake at all, and even then the painkillers have made him incoherent when he  _is_  awake. Today is the first day Jodi could get him to write down Dean’s number.

Sam and Cas aren’t healed enough to leave the hospital, much less travel all the way to South Dakota. Likewise, Bobby’s only begun in recovery – a trip to Detroit is out of the question. The only thing to do now is wait.

Dean’s driving himself crazy trying to figure out what they’re up against – because surely they’re up against  _something_. Visiting hours are more restricted outside the ICU, so Dean’s been motel hopping when he’s not in the hospital. Dean wants to research, but he knows there’s nothing anywhere that can explain this. He’s pretty sure it’s unprecedented. It makes his skin itch, sitting in an empty motel room,  _waiting_.

Castiel’s stitches are eventually removed and Sam is taken off the IV. Miraculously, both men’s scars have begun to fade. Texts from Jodi report the same of Bobby on her end. It’s undoubtedly a supernatural kind of healing; Dean wonders why he’s the only one concerned.

Sam and Cas finally get discharged, armed with painkiller prescriptions and instructions to take it very, very easy for the next couple weeks. They go to the nearest diner to celebrate, and Dean momentarily forgets to worry. He orders pie and laughs with his brother, and everything feels incredibly normal. Cas doesn’t smile – he never does – but he doesn’t seem unhappy. For the first time in a long time, Team Free Will is okay.

*

The other shoe never drops. They visit Bobby as soon as they’re able; he’s discharged soon after. Everyone goes home to Bobby’s house and Jodi is thanked extensively. A week passes, then another, of all of them taking it easy while their bodies heal. The scars all fade. Dean keeps waiting.

Over a month after the apocalypse never happened, Dean starts to wonder if there’s even a storm to be waiting for. Finally, Cas confronts him.

“Do you remember what I first told you when I met you, Dean?” Cas asks. They’re both seated at Bobby’s kitchen table with mugs of coffee, though Cas doesn’t seem very interested in his.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You mean the cheesy line about Perdition? I’ve been meaning to tell you, man, the whole ‘gripped you tight’ part was a little gay.”

Cas furrows his brow, looking entirely confused. “I am utterly indifferent o sexual orientation,” he says blankly. He goes on, “I wasn’t referring to that part – something else. I told you that good things  _do_ happen, Dean.”

Dean inwardly squirms. He knows where Cas is going with this.

“Yeah. And then your dick angel buddies set the apocalypse on me.”

Cas sighs.

“Bad things happen, too. That much we have proof of. But – you’re here, Dean. You’re not in hell. I consider that a very good thing.”

“Do you have a point to this, Cas?” Dean asks, more sharply than intended.

“Yes,” Cas replies, just as sharply as Dean. “This new beginning is a gift. Accept it.”

And that’s it, that’s all he says. He stands and takes his cup to the sink and drains it before walking away.

Dean doesn’t know what to think.

*

It’s a couple weeks later while they’re all playing Uno around Bobby’s kitchen table that Dean decides he’s had enough. He tosses his cords haphazard on the table and sits back in his seat. The other three look at him curiously.

“You’re all, like, better – right?” Dean asks, gesturing at Sam, Bobby and Cas.

“I think so,” Sam says slowly, like he’s not sure where Dean’s going with this.

“Considering an archangel exploded me into a million bits, yeah, I’m doin’ good,” Bobby responds.

Cas stars at Dean like he’s just been asked a very offensive question.

“My Grace is gone. I can barely teleport short distances. I can’t heal – or smite. I’m powerless. What is your definition of ‘better’?”

Dean scowls. “Don’t bitch at me because your Dad’s a dick, Cas. I meant better like not half-comatose and in pain better. I’m asking if you can walk, run… fight.”

Cas shrugs. Dean’s not sure if he’s ever seen Cas do that before. It looks incredibly human.

“In that case, I am ‘better’.”

Sam frowns.

“Why do you want to know if we can fight, Dean?” he asks cautiously.

“I want to hunt again, Sammy. I want things to go back to normal. This?” he gestured to their game of Uno, “This is driving me friggin crazy. If you guys are all better, let’s get back in the game!” Dean looks hopefully from face to face. To his surprise, he sees them all exchanging a serious look.

“Dean –” Sam starts to say. Dean leans forward, resting a forearm on the table. He narrows his eyes.

“Am I missing something here?”

“Dean,” Sam starts again, “Can I – Can I talk to you? Alone?”

Dean nods stiffly and stands without ceremony. He heads out the back door and, after a moment, he hears Sam, rise to his feet and follow after. The door slams shut behind Dean, then again after Sam follows after.

“Well?” Dean asks skeptically. Sam takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a couple weeks now.”

Something sinks in Dean’s stomach already, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

“Which is?”

Sam takes another steadying breath.

“I want to go back to college, Dean.”

Dean’s head immediately screams ‘ _no, no, no!’._  Out loud, he says, “What?”

“We saved the world, Dean,” Sam says a little helplessly, “What more do we owe it? We… Dean, there was always something. First we had to find Dad – then we found out I was psychic, then you had your deal, you went to hell – you went to  _hell_ , Dean. We had Lilith’s seals and finally the friggin Judaic apocalypse. There was always something, Dean. Always something. What were the odds we’d ever make it out of this alive?”

“Zero to none,” Dean says quietly.

“Exactly. But we did. I jumped into Lucifer’s cage and here I stand, not a scratch on me.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point I I’ve been given a second chance, Dean! I’m taking it. I want to go to school, get a degree. Fall in love, have kids –”

“The apple pie life,” Dean says flatly.

“Yes. I think I’ve earned it. Hell, Dean, we’ve  _both_  earned it. You could –”

“So after everything, you’re just gonna leave? Pack up your shit and ship off to Stanford and leave m – leave this life? I thought we were family.”

Sam runs a hand through his overly long hair anxiously.

“Come with me, Dean.”

“What?”

“Come with me! Not Stanford – NYU. You’d love the city –”

“What, and live like a civilian? Get a job, 9 to 5, clock in and out? We’re  _hunters,_  Sam. We  _save_ civilians”

Sam shakes his head.

“It doesn’t have to be like that. We saved the world. Give yourself a break.”

Dean laughs, bitter and hollow, and shakes his head.

“Go do your thing, college boy. Leave. That’s what you’re good at.” There’s a stiff set to Dean’s shoulders, a tight smile etching its way onto his lips. He knows this feeling. It’s a dark, hollow and bitter thing, and it settles on Dean’s muscles like a dead weight. The feeling has a name.

_Abandonment._

“Dean, you don’t mean that.”

“When do you start?” Dean snaps, ignoring that.

Sam swallows.

“In the fall.”

“So – what, two months from now?”

“I, uh,” Sam looks at the ground. “More like one month. Orientation and dorm assignment is in August.”

Dean forces himself to unclench his fists; it’s a very intense effort. He seriously wants to punch his brother hard on the jaw.

“You’ve already been accepted, then.”

Sam hangs his head.

“Yes.”

“Which means you’ve been applying to places for weeks.” Dean’s voice is deadpan, but his gaze is sharp-edged and laced with challenge. The voice in Dean’s head isn’t nearly as bold. In his mind, the statement comes out as a whimpering question, a quiet plea that almost begs that such a betrayal isn’t true.

A pause. Then, “Yes.”

For a moment, Dean doesn’t speak. He can’t; it feels like his words have been punched from his throat. He briefly thinks of Ruby, and demon blood, and keeping secrets and his heart  _aches_. There’s something about secrets that says ‘I don’t trust you’, and the idea of it stings. Especially now – especially after  _everything_.

“Thanks for the head’s up,” he says with an obviously pissed off smile. “Really appreciate it. Really thoughtful of you.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Dean,” Sam says looking up and meeting Dean’s eyes. He’s got that classic puppy dog pout on his face, the one that Dean’s gotten so familiar with over the years.

The one he’s going to miss.

“Yeah? Well, here’s my head’s up: I’m leaving.”

“Wait – what?”

“I’m not sitting around waiting for you to take off on me. I’m out.”

 “Come on, Dean,” Sam says, but Dean is already on his way back in. Cas and Bobby look up at him expectantly, but he looks past them, keeps walking. He beelines to the guest bedroom he and Sam have been sharing and opens the closet. Time to pack. He stares at the closet a long, long moment. His t-shirts are interspersed with flannel shirt after flannel shirt. For each pair of his own jeans, there is a pair that is much longer. His hands tremble on the knob of the closet doors. This is not a sight he will ever see again. His brother is leaving.

Dean refuses to cry. For one, it’s a pansy move and Dean’s got way too much dignity for it. As he pulls shirt after shirt from their places, he tells himself that he’s through with crying over this damn little brother of his. He tosses his jeans onto the bed beside the shirts – he doesn’t have many clothes, really – and tries to keep his mind blank. Sam can do whatever he wants. Dean tells himself he doesn’t care. After he stuffs everything he owns into a duffel bag, he sits on the bed and stares at the wall. His eyes are red.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean nearly leaps out of his skin. The room’s occupancy has abruptly gone from one to two. While Cas’ teleportation powers may be draining, he’s still able to pop from room to room. Despite the fact that he’s been living with this for about two months, it never fails to catch Dean off guard.

“Jesus  _Christ_ , Cas,” Dean snaps and gives a panicked swipe his eyes – and, yeah, goddamn, they’re wet.

“What? – Oh. My apologies. I think I’m overusing the power because I fear it will be gone soon.”

Dean feels that familiar surge of guilt again. He knows full well that Cas is, if they’re being honest with themselves, human now – because of Dean. He remembers the words said angrily between blow in an alley:  _‘I rebelled for this? I gave_ everything  _for you!’_  It was a sentiment made in anger, yes, but Dean thinks it probably still stands. Sure, the apocalypse was averted… but Cas probably didn’t realize how much he was giving up for it. For Dean. Now Cas is here and human and lost and Dean has that on his shoulders.

These are too many feelings to deal with at once, so Dean shoves the guilt down. After all, he’s leaving and he won’t have Cas’ big blue eyes around to make him hate himself any further. It finally occurs to Dean that he’s losing his best friend, now, as well as his brother. He’ll think about that later.

“Yeah, well, knock on wood. Maybe you’ll get to keep it. But, uh – is there a reason you’re in here?”

“I came to tell you that I’m coming with you,” Cas says, looking Dean firmly in the eyes.

“What?” Dean says stupidly, sputtering.

“You asked if I was well enough to fight. I am and I will, if you teach me. I am coming with you.”

 _Ah._ Cas, ever the soldier, come to stand by his duty. Dean snorts, giving Cas what might have been an amused look if he wasn’t so goddamn tired. He has no room for a doey-eyed angel with a sense of obligation. “Cas, I appreciate it, but –“

“No. I’m not asking. I’m accepting your offer, whether it still stands or not. I will not be left, Dean.”

“Cas-”

“If it’s an excuse, swallow it, Dean. I’m human. I’ve never been this vulnerable in my life. For better or worse, you’re  _all I have_. Forgive me for being insistent.”

Dean is stunned silent. Cas is innately reticent, so when he speaks at length, it’s impossible not to listen. His words are heavy and loaded and Dean has no idea how to react.  _‘You’re all I have’_. Those four words bring a blast of reality that hits Dean square in the chest with the dull blunt force of a hammer. The guilt that has been ebbing at the edges of his mind comes flooding in. He is now painfully aware that Sam is no longer his only responsibility. He’s got a fallen angel on his hands, and he has no one to blame but himself.

It’s a long moment before he speaks again.

  1.     




“I have four articles of clothing and no duffel bag. I thought it best to add my things to yours.”

Cas is not exaggerating. Cas used to be able to use his angel mojo to keep his vessel squeaky clean; he never needed more than his rumpled suit and dirty trench coat. That outfit, needless to say, is long gone. It was blood soaked, clinging to his skin and had to be cut off when he got to the hospital. Upon discharge from the hospital, Dean had given him two of his old t-shirts and a pair of jeans. A quick Walmart run for a couple pairs of boxers had been the end of that.

Dean makes a mental note to replace the trench coat.

“Alright, well, go get your –“no sooner has Dean begun the sentence has Cas already disappeared. It’s disorienting, like it always is. He waits for Cas to pop back in, muscles taut in anticipation for the inevitable surprise of Cas returning. To his surprise, when Cas returns, it’s through the door.

“Decided not to be a dick and enter the room like a normal person?”

“No. I wasn’t able to teleport.”

“Not able…?”

“I’m losing the ability. I don’t want to talk about it.” Cas doesn’t say anything further about it, but his despair is evident in the quiet clip of his voice and the way his shoulders are hunched. He tosses Dean his small bundle of clothes; Dean catches it and adds it to his duffel bag.

“Let’s go,” Dean says, heading for the door.

Cas hesitates.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try to talk to Sam first?”

“No,” Dean says tersely, narrowing his eyes at Cas. “And don’t mention Sam again.”

“Sam is my friend,” Cas retorts sharply. “I want him to be happy.”

“He made his choice,” Dean says icily.

Cas sighs.

“You are intrinsically stubborn.”

At this, Dean flashes a cocky smile.

“That’s the Winchester way, man.”

“Then, may I never be a Winchester.” Cas finally follows Dean, though, and they head toward the back door.

“Too late, Cas,” Dean says, holding the door open for Cas, “You already are.”

*

Their first motel in a series of motels is one of the grimiest Dean has been to. He figures it’s best to start Cas off with the worst, so he knows what he’s getting into. To his credit, Cas doesn’t complain, not even when he finds an incriminating white stain in his clearly unwashed covers or when a roach sneaks uncomfortably close to his toothbrush. Dean rewards Cas’ valiant efforts with stellar greasy diner food and equally stellar pie.

Dean spends the whole second day after they’ve left Bobby’s searching for a case. Cas is inexplicably gone for a decent part of the day. He returns unannounced in a gush of unseen wings with their covers, sheets, and clothes. They all smell clean; the scent of Tide fills the room.

“You did laundry?” Dean asks, looking up from the laptop he’d promptly purchased once they left. Sam and his laptop aren’t around anymore. It’s the other reason they’re in this shitty motel; the laptop was damn expensive.

“There is a laundromat nearby,” Cas says with a shrug. He dumps Dean’s laundry onto his bed, then hands Dean a newspaper article. Dean looks at it skeptically before he reads it over twice.

“Sounds like vampire activity,” Dean says, looking up at Cas with a grin. “Nice work, Cas. That’s about a day’s drive from here, not too bad.”

Cas sighs and takes a seat on his dingy motel bed.

“I’m not prepared to fight vampires, Dean. I’m not prepared to fight anything. I’m powerless.”

Dean is starting to realize that human Cas is kind of a downer. He’s seriously hoping Cas stops moping soon – Dean can barely deal with his  _own_ angst, let alone Cas’. He tries to play it down, make Cas feel like he’s being melodramatic. He rolls his eyes.

“Play me a song on the world’s tiniest violin,” he replies, “I’m going to teach you, dude. Duh. You seriously think I’d let you fight vampires without being able to protect yourself?”

Cas is silent and looks away.

Dean frowns. “You did, huh?”

Cas shrugs.

“I’m not Sam,” he says, like that explains it.

… In a way, it does.

*

He does teach Castiel. He teaches him everything he knows with surprising patience, and Castiel is grateful. Their first hunt goes easily enough, with no complications. Castiel finds that angel blades are not so different from human ones. He beheads one vampire of the three they find together, and fancies he sees a flicker of pride on Dean’s face.

The days go on like this. Dean is not unkind, but he is not warm, either. His training methods are impersonal, as is his praise. Castiel soaks it up, anyway. There is none of their old affinity, no trace of the easy friendship they used to share. Castiel thinks that the apocalypse has broken Dean. To have gained and lost his brother so quickly has had its toll on him.

Castiel knows that Dean’s self-esteem has reached new lows. It makes his heart ache in the way only a human heart can. It pains him to know that the Righteous Man, this man who helped save the world – this man still does not believe he deserved to be saved. Castiel wants to tell him again, remind him that  _God commanded it_ … but neither of them believes in God anymore. Castiel is not sure if that’s figuratively or literally anymore, on his part.

Castiel is not sure when Dean’s nightmares started – but he’ll never forget the first night he’s made aware of them. Dean is asleep and Castiel is not; sleep evades him still every night. While humans are built for sleep, angels are not. Castiel may be human now, but he is still wired like an angel. Sleep is so foreign that he thinks about it far too often, too deeply. As any insomniac knows, that is the problem in itself.

So Castiel is wide awake, facing down the ceiling, when he hears Dean whisper in his sleep. The words are garbled and Castiel can’t understand them but he can hear the distress in Dean’s voice. Dean shifts in his sleep and then shifts again, legs twitching. His words fall silent now, but every now and then his mouth moves like he’s speaking. Castiel is sitting up by now, leaning on one elbow.

Just as Castiel is beginning to believe that the worst us over, the thrashing picks up, much more intensely than before, and Dean  _shouts_.

“Sammy!” His voice is terrified. Castiel cringes. Dean is surely dreaming up awful ends to the apocalypse that are not as ideal as what truly played out. Everything in Cas wants to wake Dean, shake him from the awful alternate realities his subconscious is plaguing him with.

But he can’t. It’s not his place.

Dean falls out of bed, that first night. He groans and rubs his back, panting heavily like he’s been running. Castiel closes his eyes.

There is a brief moment of quiet before Dean says, “Castiel?” He is obviously awake. His voice is very small, tentative. Hopeful? – Castiel doubts it.

He pretends to be asleep.

*

Months pass. They do a lot of good, though it never feels rewarding. There seems to be some missing element that would make everything even the slightest bit fulfilling, but Castiel does not have the slightest idea what that might be. He hasn’t felt a sense of purpose since long before his Grace was torn away. Time passes because it has nothing better to do; likewise, Castiel fights alongside Dean for the same reason.

So he tells himself.

*

It’s Thanksgiving’s eve, six months since the apocalypse and four since Sam left for college when Dean tosses Castiel his trench coat and says, “Let’s go get drunk.”

Castiel stares blankly at Dean for a moment, unable to register the suggestion (– command?). Dean goes out to bars often, gets drunk and goes home with strangers regularly, but never has he offered to take Castiel with him. While Castiel has always harbored a small spark of curiosity about it, he’s never been discontent to stay at the motel. He vividly remembers the first time Dean coerced him into visiting a similar den of iniquity and the resulting awkwardness.

He does, however, also remember how hard Dean laughed and how bright his smile was. It is this memory that has Castiel slipping on his coat as he says, “Okay.”

It’s not a bar, as Castiel assumed it would be, but a club that Dean brings him to. Castiel is only aware of this because of the occasional movies he and Dean watch when cases are sparse. The bright lights and loud music make Castiel uncomfortable, but he makes no indication of it. He wants Dean to enjoy this.

Castiel notices two things. One, the club is not as packed as he would have guessed. He figures this is either because films grossly exaggerated things, or it is a slow night. He remembers that today is a human holiday and decides it must be the latter. It dawns on him that Dean may have requested his company because human holidays emphasize family, and Dean is lonely.

The second thing Castiel notices is that the majority of the men in the club are dancing with men, and the majority of the women are dancing with women. A gay club, then. Castiel wonders what assumptions Dean has made about him because of their visit to the whore house. Castiel himself has never given his sexuality much thought, but he does now. He thinks perhaps that he's daring to now because this vessel is now well and truly his. He looks around and finds both men and women aesthetically pleasing, but everything else is uncharted territory. Castiel... knows nothing of sex.

 

They reach the bar and Castiel doesn't catch what Dean orders, only that it's two of them. He smiles at Castiel. It is good to see Dean smile.

 

“I'm getting you ripped, and hopefully laid. Maybe you'll be more fun once you've discovered the mysterious world of sex and alcohol.”

 

Castiel would like to point out that Dean hasn't exactly been very pleasant to be around, either, but he doesn't.

 

Instead he says, “Are you gay, Dean?”

 

Dean snorts, but Castiel notices he looks the slightest bit uncomfortable.

 

“If you're going to fall, Cas, you can't exactly judge-”

 

“I am not judging you, Dean. Your sexuality is irrelevant. I was simply curious.”

 

Dean visibly relaxes.

 

“I sleep with chicks. I sleep with dudes. I don't see the point in labeling it.”

 

The bartender, a typical brunette butch-looking girl with a short spiky haircut and a triangle tattoo, hands them their drinks. She informs them with a smile that the gentlemen across the bar have paid for it for them. Dean leans forward a bit, catches their eye, and winks.

 

“You're not talking to them until you're hammered,” Dean informs Cas, “and now that you're human I think I can actually manage to get you drunk.”

 

Dean tries, but Castiel does not like the taste of liquor. He hates the way it burns going down, hates how sinful and awful and  _wrong_ it feels. Dean drinks everything Castiel doesn't and successfully gets  _himself_ drunk. As the night goes on, he looks broody, not happy. Castiel thinks he must have done something wrong.

 

He leans close to Dean and whispers, “Should we leave?” and Dean gives a dazed nod. Castiel helps him up and drags him through the dance floor.

 

*

 

Dean is dazed when they arrive at the motel room. He's vaguely aware of hands tugging off his shoes and pulling off his shirt, replacing it with one much softer, the one he sleeps in.

 

Blearily, he says, “Sam?” There is a deep sigh that is decidedly  _not_  Sam and he forces himself to focus. It's Cas, not Sam, who's looking at him with a furrowed brow.

 

“You can't sleep in your jeans, Dean,” Cas says tiredly. “I think your personal space rules prevent me from doing it myself.”

 

Dean laughs at this because, for whatever reason, it's funny, fucking hilarious and he decides that Cas is an awesome friend. Cas looks confused as hell and Dean laughs more until a tiny, hesitant smile forms on Cas' lips.

 

“If I throw up, catch me,” Dean slurs. It makes zero sense, but he hopes Cas gets it.

 

“Of course,” Cas replies, and Dean grins.

 

“Was s'posed to get y'drunk,” he says, “I fucked up.”

 

Castiel shakes his head.

 

“I didn't want to.”

 

“So why'd you come?” Dean asks in a tone that might have been sharp and accusatory if Dean wasn't nearly giggling.

 

“Because you asked me to.”

 

Dean thinks that this is very fucking deep – maybe – and hopes he remembers it. He thinks maybe he should write it down. He doesn't say anything at that, just stares and Cas stares back because that's what they  _do_. Finally, Dean glances at his phone, which he'd left at the motel earlier.

 

It reads,  _One missed call: Sammy._

 

Dean tosses the phone back where it was.

 

“Thanks for stayin’, Cas,” he says.

 

“Staying?”

 

“With me. You coulda left. Sammy left. You -”

 

“You should sleep, Dean,” Cas says, gently cutting Dean off.

 

Somehow or another, they both end up crashing on Dean's bed. It feels like when Sam was small and would crawl into Dean's bed when he was scared, only backwards. He sleeps like a brick and only wakes briefly when he feels the bed dip and Castiel stumble to his own bed.

 

It is the last time they will share a bed together for quite some time.

 

They never talk about it, but things are different after, more like they used to be. Dean is less stiff, less militant. Cas gives in a little to his humanity. They finally have that monster movie marathon.

 

It doesn't atone for that nearly tangible  _absence_  though, not at all. Specifically when the nightmares keep it firmly in the forefront of his mind.

 

 

*******

 

One night, Dean wakes to the sound of someone dying. Rather, it is the sort of agonized scream that only someone who is having a limb or vital organ slowly wrenched from his body could produce. He sits up in a flash, glancing around in the darkness and he sees Cas sitting up and trembling with body shaking shudders.

 

Dean's out of bed immediately. He stumbles in the dark to Cas' side, panicked eyes trying to access the situation. Cas is making a noise like he's dry heaving, leaning forward as his bare shoulders shake. He's clutching at them fiercely, and Dean thinks he can see blood from the sheer intensity of Cas' nails in his own flesh.

 

His heaving is broken up by noises only someone being slaughtered could produce. Dean is terrified. It sounds like Cas is dying, and Dean can't handle losing Cas. This realization hits him hard, and his heart pounds in his chest. He needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

 

He thinks it's probably that storm he almost gave up expecting.

 

“Cas!” Dean says, forcefully yanking Cas' hands away from his back so that he can do no further harm to himself. He holds both hands clasped between his own, squeezing as though it will help.

 

“Cas, Cas, stay with me, man,” he says urgently. For the first time, Cas meets Dean's eyes. His bright blue eyes are contorted with pain.

 

“They're gone,” he gasps like he's drowning, “they're gone, they're gone.”

 

Dean pulled Cas' hands close to his own face, against his lips.

 

“Who's gone, Cas?”

 

Cas shook his head furiously, overcome with some mixture of fear an emotion that was devastating.

 

“My wings,” he said, in a voice only a dying man could produce. “They're gone. My wings are gone.”

 

Cas didn't die that night, but he did spend hours writhing in pain from unseen wounds. Dean sat on the floor by Cas' bed the whole while, cupping Cas' hands in his own. He eventually fell asleep there, neck craned at a weird angle to rest on the bed. He was only able to succumb to sleep once Cas' shuddering faded off.

 

From that night on, Cas was entirely human.

 

 

*

 

Like most things, they never talk about it. The extent of their acknowledging that night was Dean asking Cas if he was okay the following morning. Cas had said, “I don't know what your definition of okay is,” in a tired, battered voice. Dean figured this was the most of an answer he was going to get.

 

Their routine is unchanged. If anything, Cas fights even harder than he did before. Dean understands. There's a certain amount of intensity that only loss can bring.

 

They get a call one day from a number Dean doesn't recognize. He answers it anyway; calls from strangers are usually fellow hunters calling for back up or people Bobby has directed to Dean and Cas to help with a case. In this instance, it's the latter.

 

“I need help,” is the first thing that the female voice on the other end says. Dean chuckles.

 

“Hello to you, too. What's your nightmare? Ghost? Curse? Douchey politician?”

 

“Ghost, I think,” the girl says unsurely. Dean realizes that the voice is maddeningly familiar. He strains his brain to place a name and memory for it, but he can't quite put his finger on it.”

 

“Has it killed anyone?”

 

“No, but it tried to. My friend... she left the house right away, but it followed her to her new one. I'm scared for her.”

 

“She probably owns something that belonged to the ghost,” Dean decides. “What was your name?”

 

“I'm in upstate New York. Are you far from here?”

 

Dean chuckles.

 

“Nothing's too far, lady. But we happen to be about three hours away, in Pennsylvania. We'll be there soon.”

 

She gives him her address and he saves her number. Only then does he realize that he never got her name.

 

*

 

The area is just as familiar as her voice, but Dean still can't place it. They agree to meet in a downtown coffee house to discuss details. The December chill is cold, and well-brewed coffee sounds like a great idea. Cas' old trench coat has been replaced with a nearly identical one. It looks weird to see it paired with a scarf and beany, though. Cas isn't accustomed to being cold. He likes layering.

 

When they walk into the cafe, they look around for a girl with black hair in twin braids. When they find her, Dean's heart practically stops.

 

The girl is Sarah Blake, an art dealer from years and years ago that Dean and Sam saved from a cursed painting. The thing that causes Dean to stop short, though, is the fact that Sam is with her. Sam’s back is to them, so he doesn't see them at first. Dean's first reaction is to turn around and walk out, but Cas grabs his arm gently. From their table, Sarah catches sight of them and waves them over. Cas leads him without much force to the table. Dean lets himself be lead, feeling numb.

 

“Long time no see!” she says with a grin once they reach the table. Sam finally looks up – and his face is a picture of surprise.

 

“Dean?” he says, looking incredulous. He looks back and forth between Sarah and Dean so quickly it's almost comical.

 

Cas looks at Sarah. “It seems that someone has been scheming.” He’s wearing an expression that Dean can’t decipher.

 

Sarah laughs. “Maybe just a little. I got tired of Sam moping around and pining for his big brother. You both need to get over this. Sit down, Dean,” she says firmly.

 

She is very convincing. Dean sits, as does Cas. An awkward silence takes over the table for a moment, but Sarah won't have it.

 

“You're both being immature,” she says sharply. “Dean, stop pouting about your baby bird leaving the nest. Sam, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You guys should have called each other months ago.”

 

“I called on Thanksgiving!” Sam says indignantly, carefully avoiding Dean's eyes.

 

Sarah snorts.

 

“You were drunk, Sam. It doesn't count.” She sighs, then, looking at both of them. “I want you guys to be happy,” she says, “You can't be happy without each other in your lives. It's been months.  _Get over it_.”

 

Dean and Sam exchange a heavy look, meeting each other’s eyes for the first time since Dean arrived. When put in such simple terms, their months and months of silence seem… petty. Childish. Dean is almost embarrassed. If the sheepish look on Sam’s face is any indication, he’s feeling the same way. Dean heaves a deep sigh and sits back in his chair.

 

“Bobby gave you my number? He was in on this?”

 

Sarah smiles. “Sort of. He gave me Cas’ number when I told him that I wanted to get you two in the same room.”

 

Dean looks at Cas, surprised.

 

“You?”

 

Cas looks at his hands, which are resting on the table.

 

“I may have been involved in planning this,” he says quietly. “I am tired of seeing you unhappy, Dean.”

 

“He made sure you guys were close by when I called.”

 

“But not so close as to be suspicious,” Cas added.

 

Sam shakes his head slowly in disbelief. “My own girlfriend, conspiring against me with my old friend.”

 

“Right?” Dean says, sounding equally incredulous. He runs a hand over his short hair. “Downright treacherous, man.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re horrible,” Sarah says dismissively, “Point is, you guys are here. It’s time to work it out.”

 

Dean looks over his brother. He looks like he’s recently had a haircut – Dean figures that’s Sarah’s doing – and he’s wearing a white pullover hoodie with the letters NYU written in dark violet on the front. It takes him a second to realize that it’s a hoodie from Sam’s  _college_. His university.

 

His dream.

 

Dean thinks back years and years ago, back to when Sam was a junior in high school and working his ass off in every class. John never noticed, but Dean did. They never talked about it, but Dean knew that Sam was getting his straight A’s for a reason. He wanted to get out, to move on and be  _normal_. Dean had never felt so conflicted in his life, watching his little brother do everything in his power to  _leave_. Yet, despite the aching, gnawing feeling of upcoming abandonment, Dean had been proud. His brother was going places he never could. Dean would never admit it – he was too selfish – but a small part of him was happy for Sam.

 

That small part was creeping back now, shouting at him that this is  _good_. He wished he could silence it, but it was growing louder and louder, practically shouting.

 

“How’s college?” he asks. The words come unbidden from his lips. He finds that he is genuinely curious. He is vaguely aware that his voice cracked a little on the question… but whatever.

 

Sam licks his lips and echoes Dean’s sigh. “Good,” he says, “Really good.” There’s emotion behind these words that Dean can pick up on immediately. No one knows his brother better than he does. Dean’s growing more and more repentant.

 

He clears his throat.

 

“That’s good.”

 

“That’s good?” Sam says, jaw nearly dropping. He catches the action, though, and clamps it shut. Dean looks away, looks at Cas. Cas is still studiously looking at his hands. He fidgets a bit when he feels Dean looking at him. Dean turns back to Sam.

 

“I was a dick,” he says at last, “I want you to be happy, Sammy. Even if it’s without…” He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence ‘ _without me_ ’. There’s a lump in his throat.

 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Sarah cuts in before Sam can reply. “You and Cas could rent a flat somewhere. Stay in one –”

 

“No,” Dean says immediately, anticipating what she’s going to say. He’s not having  _that_.

 

She narrows her eyes at him. She looks mildly frightening.

 

“Let me finish my damn sentence,” she says irritably. “You wouldn’t have to stop hunting, Dean. I would never ask you that – neither would Sam.”  _He already did,_ Dean almost cuts in, but he holds his tongue. Sarah’s tough shit. Better to let her finish. “You could… travel. There’s always cases. You and Cas can make sure the tri-state area is the safest place in the country. The only difference is that you’d have a home base. And home base will be close to us.”

 

It doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea, but Dean doesn’t know how to admit it. He’s already admitted he was wrong once in this conversation – it’s asking a bit much to agree to a life changing decision in the same one. And… there’s something else, too. A part of him doesn’t like the idea of moving to New York just because his brother is here. He’s not particularly fond of the city, and upstate New York feels so… isolated. He thinks this might be a chance to be less codependent, to branch out – and he’s starting to accept that this might be a good thing.

 

If he agrees to do this, he has to do it right.

 

“I don’t want to live in New York,” he says. It’s not a no, it’s not a yes. It’s a carefully neutral answer. Cas looks up, then, and Dean can feel him looking at him.

 

“I have an uncle who owns real estate in Pennsylvania,” Sarah says quietly, like she’s afraid they’ve reached the dealbreaker in their conversation. Her tone resembles the sort one might use to calm a spooked horse. “He’s been looking for tenants in a studio apartment he rents out for a while now. Rent would be cheap – dirt cheap, honestly. He’s got more than enough money; he just doesn’t want to see it rot. It would be small, but…”

 

“We’re used to small,” Dean says softly. He looks at Sam, who has this heartbreakingly hopeful expression on his face. With this one look, Dean realizes he’s already made the decision. It’s been made for him, really.

 

“Is that a yes?” Sarah asks cautiously.

 

Dean shrugs.

 

“I guess.”

 

“What?” Sam says, leaning forward so quickly his hair bounces a little. It’s borderline comical.

 

“It’s a yes, dumbass. Jesus Christ. I’ll do it, okay? Not saying it again.” It takes a moment before he realizes he hasn’t consulted Cas at all in this matter. He looks at Cas.

 

“If that’s okay with you, man?” he asks. He kind of feels like a tool. Cas looks surprised that Dean even bothered to ask, which kind of makes Dean feel like even more of a tool.

 

“I’ll follow wherever you go, Dean. I want you to be happy.” The genuine sincerity in this statement is kind of overwhelming – Dean doesn’t want to analyze the emotion there, the depth of it, just yet. Not now. So he focuses on the main point, which is the fact that everyone is in solidarity for once.

 

Dean has his brother back.

 

“So,” Sarah says, standing to her feet, “you boys have some major catching up to do. Cas? Why don’t we go for a walk? I’ll show you around.”

 

Cas stands as well.

 

“Thank you, Sarah. I would love that.”

 

The two of them exit the café, leaving Dean alone with his brother. There’s an incredibly awkward silence that stretches out to an uncomfortable amount of time until Dean finally breaks it.

 

“I told you to marry that girl,” Dean says with a smirk, “Glad you finally listened to my advice.”

 

Sam turns red. “We’re not married, Dean!”

 

Dean snickers. “You will be,” he says in a cavalier tone, brushing off Sam’s blushing protests. They fall into easy conversation after that, and everything slowly begins to feel normal again. Different, yes. Incredibly different. But… normal.

 

It’s a good feeling.

 

Sam tells Dean about how he and Sarah met in an Art Appreciation class at NYU, where she was taking the course just for the sake of learning more about her profession. They instantly recognized each other; the connection was there immediately. It was Sarah who asked Sam out to their first date, as soon as class was over. Dean laughs.

 

“Sure you can handle her, man?”

 

Sam’s expression is priceless. “I sure hope so.”

 

Dean hopes so, too.  _Happy_ looks good on Sam.

 

*

 

Sharing an apartment with an Angel of the Lord is weird. The studio flat is tiny, as expected, but it has a kitchen and an incredibly comfortable bed. The couch, where Dean sleeps, is big and soft, the kind you can sink into and stay for hours. Dean’s never had a kitchen or a couch before, not since he was four years old. It’s weird. It feels domestic in a way that Dean is not entirely comfortable with, especially because it’s with Cas. Cas seems out of place in this sort of environment.

 

Days become weeks. They’re gone more often than not – as Sarah put it, the flat is just home base. Dean’s not even entirely sure  _why_ they have a home base when they still travel so much, but it feels like… like something. Almost like having a home. And it’s close to Sam, which makes  _Dean_ feel close to Sam. So he doesn’t move out of the place, doesn’t let the strangeness of it force him out. After a while he and Cas start to spend more time there.

 

Time is changing a lot of things.

 

As Christmas approaches, Dean starts to give way to a little gloominess. It’s not the bitter, bruised sort of angry depression that had plagued him up until he reconnected with Sam at the coffee shop, but it’s an achy sort of thing that mostly feels like he’s been slighted. He’s in contact with his brother now, which is awesome, but… he rarely sees him, not like he’d expected when he took this offer. Sam has his own life, and Dean is trying to build his own. It’s difficult and Dean’s not entirely sure that he  _wants_ to.

 

He has to take what he can get, though, and right now it’s text messages and phone calls. If anything, he’s perpetually sulking now. Cas, to his credit, is dealing with it in stride. Every now and then, Dean will give the guy a random smile without explanation, letting him know that he’s grateful. Dean doesn’t know how to  _say_ it, doesn’t know how to thank the angel for sticking with him through all of this bullshit. The flat would be too empty if Cas wasn’t there.

 

 

*

 

"Why don't we have a tree inside, Dean?"

Dean glances away from the TV, where he's been mindlessly channel surfing through endless Christmas specials for about a half hour, and looks at Cas. The not-quite-angel is sitting on the floor beside the couch Dean sits on, looking outside distractedly. His attention is fixed on a car stopped at a traffic light; a big, thick Christmas tree is tied to its top with many ropes. The faintest bit of snow is beginning to fall, lightly dusting the tree. Dean and Cas can't hear from inside, but Dean wouldn't be surprised if the family in it was pumping Christmas tunes loud like it's classic rock and singing along out of tune in synchrony like all conventional families do during the holidays. Dean groans and clicks off the tv, standing and tossing the remote on the couch, aggravated. Cas looks up at him and tilts his head.

"God, Cas, not you too."

"I don't understand."

 

Dean doesn’t know it now – there’s no  _way_  he could know it, no way he could see it coming – but this is the moment where everything changes. It’s a subtle shift in the universe, in himself, in the man across from him, and it’s everything. It’s the moment that will bring the tree, that will bring the mistletoe, that will bring the sweater, that will bring a new beginning.

 

Dean doesn't actually  _want_ to fall in love, but how is he supposed to know it’ll all start with a goddamn tree?


	2. It Started With a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they really go back and think about it... it all started with a tree. A Christmas tree, that is. Castiel is human now, and the apocalypse is not only over, it's been averted. Sam's away at NYU, finally finishing law school, and Dean's stuck in what is probably the most awkward situation of his life. He's not exactly sure how he ended up sharing a flat with Cas in Media, Pennsylvania, but he does know the curious would-be angel is sort of derailing his plans for a life of decadence and booze. Cas is trying to make the best of his humanity by exploring human holidays. Dean can't exactly complain because he's pretty much the reason Cas got his wings clipped in the first place.
> 
> Dean didn't actually want to fall in love, but how was he supposed to know it would all start with a goddamn tree?
> 
>  
> 
> [Essentially gratuitous, self-indulgent Christmas fluff.]

"Why don't we have a tree inside, Dean?"

  
Dean glances away from the tv, where he's been mindlessly channel surfing through endless Christmas specials for about a half hour, and looks at Cas. The not-quite-angel is sitting on the floor beside the couch Dean sits on, looking outside distractedly. His attention is fixed on a car stopped at a traffic light; a big, thick Christmas tree is tied to its top with many ropes. The faintest bit of snow is beginning to fall, lightly dusting the tree. Dean and Cas can't hear from inside, but Dean wouldn't be surprised if the family in it was pumping Christmas tunes loud like it's classic rock and singing along out of tune in synchrony like all conventional families do during the holidays. Dean groans and clicks off the tv, standing and tossing the remote on the couch aggravatedly. Cas looks up at him and tilts his head.  
  
  
  
"God, Cas, not you too."  
  
  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, well, you wouldn't."  
  
  
  
Dean gives the car a last grouchy look as it drives off, green branches swishing as it accelerates. Cas eyes Dean curiously, eyes as calculating as they always are when Dean does something he doesn't understand. Which is often. It's been six months since Sam finally announced he'd be moving in with a girl he's found since the end of the apocalypse ("Saving the world kinda puts things into perspective, Dean. We have another chance to live our lives! You might want to do the same."), and three months since Dean and Cas decided they'd gotten a little weary of endless motel rooms and decided to put down a payment on a studio flat in Pennsylvania. They still hunt, unlike Sam, but more and more often they find themselves staying off the internet and away from the newspapers, casually and almost subconsciously avoiding new cases. Dean still drinks and Cas still gets a far-off look in his eyes every now and then, like he's remembering something that's been taken from him.  
  
  
  
They avoid the subject of alcoholism and Cas' essential humanity much more effectively than they do potential cases.  
  
  
  
Dean walks off towards the kitchen - one of the only positive things about the holidays is the fact that stores start selling eggnog. He pours himself a glass, and looks through the liquor cabinet. He debates for a moment between brandy and rum and finally opts for the latter. He turns to grab the eggnog and -  
  
  
  
"Jesus shit, Cas - don't /do/ that." Cas is standing too-close-for-comfort... again. Dean's starting to get used to it, but it's no less disorienting. Or rude. After all, the guy's all out of angel mojo and can't even teleport - he's got no excuse for popping up unannounced anymore.  
  
  
  
"My apologies." Cas says, but Dean suspects it's not very sincere (though it may be because he hears it all the time, now). Cas unceremoniously plucks the bottle of rum from Dean's hands and places it on the counter beside them. Dean scowls.  
  
  
  
"What the hell?"  
  
  
  
"I'm new to this," Cas says evenly, though there's an edge to it, "I've been stationed here for thousands of years, but have never /participated/ in this - any of this. Human festivities, their customs... if I'm stuck in this form, forgive me for wanting to make the most of it. I want a tree, Dean."  
  
  
  
Dean has a thousand reasons why he doesn't want a tree or Christmas specials on tv or presents or any of that, dating back from November 2, 1979 until the present. Number one being the only other living Winchester - the only person Dean would be willing to put on his holiday face for and make the best of this shitty season. But Sam's in Indiana with a beautiful girl, wrapping presents and eating cookies and planning on what to get her parents when they spend their holiday with them.  
  
  
  
So yeah, Dean's festivity reasons are limited.  
  
  
  
"You're not missing anything," Dean says dismissively, reaching for the bottle. Cas slaps his hand - lightly, but pointedly.  
  
  
  
"I wouldn't know, would I?"  
  
  
  
Dean sighs, exasperated, and looks Cas in the eyes. This is something he tries not to do very often. Every time he looks at Cas, really looks at him, he's knocked a little breathless by how /human/ his angel looks, more so every day. This revelation comes with waves of guilt every time from the knowledge that Cas' fall, his humanity, is all Dean's fault. But that's another subject they don't talk about.  
  
  
  
But now, looking at the earnest look in Cas' eyes, at the little bit of hope that's trying to fight the hopelessness Dean knows Cas faces every day, Dean can't say no. He has to get the goddamn angel a tree. He groans, downing his virgin eggnog and heading for the coat closet.  
  
  
  
"Grab the keys, Cas."  
  
  
  
"Dean?"  
  
  
  
"Don't make me change my mind," Dean says, and Cas doesn't wait another beat. The excitement he exudes as he scrambles to get his trench coat is so endearing Dean almost forgets to be a scrooge.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
There is nothing that can be said of the finished, decorated tree than that it has very obviously been decorated by a 30-something-year-old bachelor and an awkward, nerdy angel. Still, the two of them stand staring at the messy, glowing thing like parents looking at a newborn child. Cas is actually /smiling/, which is such a rare occurrence that Dean is tempted to go out and decorate the whole goddamn front yard, too, the whole shebang, just to keep that stupid cheesy grin on Cas' face. The realization of this makes Dean feel a little weird, though, so after a moment too long of admiring their handiwork, he clears his throat.  
  
  
  
"So! Did that satisfy your Christmas fix? Can I have a drink now?"  
  
  
  
Cas pries his eyes from the tree to look at Dean.  
  
  
  
"No, Dean," Cas says sternly - and somehow he's still able to manage his I-am-an-Angel-of-the-Lord voice despite his lack of mojo because Dean swallows his retorts, unspoken. He eyes Cas a little warily. He still hasn't forgotten the heavenly ass-kicking Cas gave him in that alley so long ago. Dean's pretty sure he could easily take Cas now, in an even fight, but that sort of dizzy awe at the immense power of the celestial being he's friends with hasn't exactly faded from memory. If nothing else, Dean's learned to take Cas seriously.  
  
  
  
... That, and maybe the fact that Dean kinda likes the way Cas' face looks when he smiles.  
  
  
  
"Alright, what other holiday crap do you want to do, then?" Dean relents.  
  
  
  
"Everything. Teach me everything."  
  
  
  
And so Dean does. It nearly kills him, too, because Cas plays the holiday CD Dean gets him on repeat for hours and Dean never had any intention of memorizing all of the reindeer on Santa's sleigh but by day two he can recite them backwards. He lets Cas drag him to the mall to window shop (they don't exactly have a long list of relatives to buy presents for) and that weird feeling comes back when Cas stares at the huge tree in the center of the mall like it's some postcard from God or something. And Dean has to admit that the smell of gingerbread cookies throughout the house isn't exactly a bad thing. He doesn't join Cas when he bakes and he pretends to be asleep when Cas watches all the classic holiday movies Dean orders for him, but he can't help but feel a little secondhand warmth from all Cas' excitement.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
It's about a week before Christmas when it hits Dean that he needs to get Cas a present.  
  
  
  
The idea comes to him at about midnight. One of Cas' movies - Dean's pretty sure it's Rudolph, it's Cas' favourite - has just ended and Cas is passed out on the couch. The little loser's wearing Christmas pyjamas, for God's sake. He looks ridiculous, but Cas is too alien to understand embarrassment and had only wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion at Dean's breathless laughter over it. The whole 'sleeping angel' thing is still kinda trippy, but Dean's finally used to it. Dean shuts off the tv when the credits end and the room is dark, save for the ethereal glow of their horribly decorated tree.  
  
  
  
Cas looks peaceful in sleep, even more so in the light of the tree. /Their/ tree. Dean turns his attention to it, giving it a fond look. It's a little crazy that it's even there - that Cas was able to pull an entire Christmas out of him. Dean has never had a Christmas like this before. While before he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a homemade cookie, Dean's pretty sure he's had about every type of cookie in creation in the past two weeks alone. He chuckles at the memory of Cas in a Christmas apron. The guy really wasn't kidding when he said he wanted to do the whole Christmas thing right.  
  
  
  
The weird feeling thing has taken up permanent residence in Dean's chest.  
  
  
  
It's that feeling that tells Dean he needs to get Cas a kickass present that is /not/ from a gas station and not wrapped in newspaper. The weird feeling does not, however, tell Dean what to get.  
  
  
  
He sighs, aggravated, and situates Cas so he's not dangling off the side of the couch. Cursing himself for being such a girl, he tosses a blanket over him and then leaves the room before the weird feeling can swallow him whole.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
"Christ, Cas, you need /more/ things?"  
  
  
  
"We don't have a wreath, Dean. I am ashamed. We have no outdoor decorations."  
  
  
  
"Nobody decorates a studio apartment, Cas.  Married couples decorate their houses. Old people decorate their houses. A hunter and a nerd angel don't decorate shit." Castiel gives a pointed look at the Christmas tree and Dean scowls.  
  
  
  
"Fine. I'll take you to the mall, but if I spend any more time in that holiday store I'm going to puke. I'll walk around and you can take your time."  
  
  
  
"That works fine. I do have a bit of a list."  
  
  
  
Dean's mouth starts to form the world /how/, but he thinks better of it and clamps it shut. There is no reasoning with Cas when he's in decorating mode.  
  
  
  
Dean takes the time alone at the mall to search for a suitable Cas present. He has no idea what a sort-of-angel could possibly want so he's got no idea where to begin. He thought about asking Cas himself, but he thinks that might be breaking some sort of unwritten Christmas rule. He also thought about calling Sam, but he isn't exactly sure he knows how to explain the situation. Nothing in the windows seems appealing. All Dean knows for sure that Cas wanted was Christmas itself, and he obviously got it.  
  
  
  
An hour later Cas is calling for help carrying things to the car and Dean's circled the mall again and again to no avail.  
  
  
  
***  
  
Cas bought a goddamn fireplace.  
  
  
  
It's one of those cheesy fake ones, but it's pretty realistic and it actually gives off heat. Dean's absolutely mortified by the fact that his once-manly flat now has stockings hanging up. Thankfully, the wreath Cas bought does /not/ have bows or anything else embarrassing. It's understated and kinda nice, if Dean's willing to admit (and he's not), and doesn't look too bad on their door. Dean's in the kitchen making hot chocolate for the two of them when he hears a crash from the living room. He rolls his eyes and puts down the mugs, idly wondering when exactly they obtained hot chocolate and how long he's been involved in making it as well. Somewhat disturbed by the fact that he cannot remember when, he treks to the living room. Cas is on the floor, scowling at a footstool.  
  
  
  
"What were you trying to do?" Dean asks, amused, helping Cas from the floor. Cas points at the doorway to the kitchen.  
  
  
  
"The Internet says I'm meant to hang this everywhere," he explains, gesturing to the box in his hand. Dean takes it, looks it over, and starts laughing because he has no idea how else to react. The box reads, 'mistletoe'.  
  
  
  
"Not in here you don't," he says, moving the box from Cas' reach when he grabs for it. "Do you even know what it's for?"  
  
  
  
"The box didn't come with directions," Cas replies simply, reaching again for the box. Dean grins and moves away, playing keep-away with the box of mistletoe just for the fun of watching Cas try.  
  
  
  
"Explain it to me," Cas says irritably, obviously annoyed that Dean's inhibiting his decorating.  
  
  
  
"Ha, no," Dean says. He ends up dangling the box over Cas head, earning a glower from the shorter man. Cas gives him a pout that rivals Sam's and stops fighting for the box. Dean makes a note to punch his brother for teaching that awful look to Cas. It was unfair enough when only Sam did it.  
  
  
  
"Please?" Cas asks quietly. Dean swallows, suddenly very aware of where the mistletoe is. He clears his throat and half-shoves the box at Cas.  
  
  
  
"No, damnit. Do whatever you want with it."  
  
  
  
Cas tilts his head; Dean scowls.  
  
  
  
"Just - augh, go pick a movie. I'm almost done the hot chocolate." Cas' face lights up and Dean leaves for the kitchen, confused by the warm, red feeling on his face.  
  
  
  
***  
  
The day before Christmas eve, Dean still has no idea what he wants to get Cas. He knows he shouldn't be so annoyed by it, so fixated on picking something perfect... but he is, regardless, and it's enough to send him three towns over to distract himself with a hunt. It's a low-grade ghost with a thing for bitching it out near the holidays. The house she inhabits was recently purchased by a nice little Jewish family that seriously doesn't deserve to get a crazy lady in a Santa hat for a ghost. It was a pretty clean hunt; the graveyard she's buried in is around the corner and her grave is clearly marked. The grateful family rewards him with homemade fried doughnuts and Dean ends up sticking around for an hour or two.  
  
  
  
When Dean gets home, it's already getting dark out. He thinks about stopping at the mall again, doing one last run through, but he knows it's pointless. He's at a loss on what to get his angel and tomorrow is Christmas Eve. His fingers grip tight around the steering wheel and he drives a little faster than intended. Dean Winchester does not accept defeat gracefully.  
  
  
  
Dean sort of smells like he's been digging up graves and he's eager to get a hot shower and crawl into bed. Or, rather, into the couch with some blankets and a holiday movie with Cas, some cookies, hot chocolate... but no, of course Dean didn't want that. If Cas /forced/ him, sure. It's not like he was looking forward to going home to his cheesy, overly made up house. Not like he grins at the wreath on the door as he turns the key in the lock.  
  
  
  
Dean isn't exactly expecting the onslaught of new smells that hit him when he opens the door. It smells /amazing/. Dean can make out some sort of meat - turkey? - roasting, and the unmistakable smell of pie. He can feel his mouth watering a bit. Cas has seriously outdone himself, and it's not even Christmas Eve yet -  
  
  
  
\- but then, it might as well be, because Sam Winchester and Bobby Singer are sitting on his couch, chatting it up with Cas, drinking eggnog and listening to that dumb holiday CD and Dean's a little taken aback. He hadn't expected to see either of them any time soon, especially for the holidays. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who called them to invite them over. Dean pushes down the desire to bear-hug Cas.  
  
  
  
This is awesome.  
  
  
  
"Sammy!" Dean calls and is giant moose of a brother bounds over and they hug, grinning at each other. Because while, yeah, finally parting ways after so many consecutive years together was long overdo, they're still brothers and they've still been apart way longer than they have been in any of those years. Sam's hair is at a respectable length now and Dean suspects the new girlfriend had something to do with it. Dean notices she's not around with a certain amount of relief. It's not that Dean didn't like her, but he still couldn't remember her name and, for better or worse, she /is/ the one who took Sam from him. Besides, Dean's uncomfortable enough as it is about his bachelor pad being all decked out in Christmas cheer without having some girl come over and coo over all the cute things Cas has done with the place.  
  
  
  
"Man, I love what you guys have done with the place," Sam says, instantly reminding Dean that he actually has a massive ogre of a little sister as a sibling. Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
  
  
"Of course you do. You shouldn't be encouraging Cas' Christmas fever, Sam! I have no idea what I'm going to do with him the day after everything's over."  
  
  
  
Cas glares.  
  
  
  
"I'm perfectly capable - "  
  
  
  
"So how the hell are you, Sammy?" Dean asks, cutting through Cas' protests. Then Dean remembers Bobby's there, too, and his grin stretches even wider. "Bobby!"  
  
  
  
Cas seems to have this sort of glow to him, like he's a little quiet ball of positive energy in the corner of the room. He's not saying much, just quietly observing, but Dean's eyes are drawn to him again and again. He can't help but wonder what he'd be doing right now if not for Cas - probably passed out in a motel somewhere, drunk, or out shagging the cheapest ass he could find at the nearest bar. The most festive he'd get is if said piece of ass was wearing a sexy Santa outfit.  
  
  
  
Yet here he is, instead, spending the first real holiday with his entire family by a tree with a home cooked meal in the oven since before he can remember. All because of Cas. The weird feeling in his chest pulses like a knot being tightened. He realizes with a start that he's been staring. Naturally Cas, being Cas, is staring back. Damn angel never misses a beat. Dean looks away quickly.  
  
  
  
"I thought you're spending the holidays with your chick and your future in-laws?" Dean asks conversationally, eating yet another of the cookies Cas has laid out. There's eggnog, too, but Cas didn't put out any alcohol and Dean's not sure if it was intentional or not. Knowing Cas, it probably was, but a party's not a party without some booze and Dean's considering getting up to grab some. After a moment decides he might just wait til someone asks, though. Waiting can't hurt.  
  
  
  
"We are. That's why Cas invited us over today, instead. Now I get at least a little time with you guys." Dean shoots Cas a grateful look he hopes Cas understands. Cas flashes him a tiny smile and stands up.  
  
  
  
"I believe the food should be done. If you'll all gather around the table I'll be out with it in a second."  
  
  
  
"I'll help," Dean adds, getting up and following Cas. If Sam and Bobby exchange looks, Dean doesn't see it.  
  
  
  
Out of earshot in the kitchen, Dean grabs Cas shoulder gently and looks him in the eyes.  
  
  
  
"Thanks, man. Seriously."  
  
  
  
"It is nothing, Dean. As much for my benefit as yours. But you're welcome."  
  
  
  
Dean isn't expecting that damn weird feeling to do a flip when Cas meets his eyes, but he takes it in stride. He begins pulling dishes from the cabinets.  
  
  
  
"Shit, Cas, baking cookies is one thing, but I didn't know you could cook. And from the smell of that thing, you cook fucking fierce."  
  
  
  
"It's a recipe, Dean," Cas says idly as he pulls the roast from the oven, "and I've been well trained by the chef on DVR. Hopefully it tastes as good as it smells."  
  
  
  
Dean wants to tell Cas that he's pretty sure Cas couldn't fail at anything if he tried, but that's borderline... something, and Dean doesn't want to cross into whatever that something is just yet. He carries out dishes and Cas carries out the roast and they go back to the kitchen to bring out utensils and cups. On their way back in they bump shoulders in the doorway and Dean happens to look up. Cas is unfailingly stubborn; there's mistletoe hanging overhead and Dean's so red he's afraid his face will catch fire. Cas stares at him with such confusion it's obvious that everyone in the room is seeing Dean blush.  
  
  
  
"You never explained this to me," Cas says thoughtfully, frowning. Sam and Bobby laugh.  
  
  
  
"That's mistletoe, Cas. You hang it up and if two people are caught under it together, they're supposed to kiss," Sam explains.  
  
  
"I see," Cas says, looking up. He looks at Dean thoughtfully, then, but Dean doesn't stick around to see if the angel's aware that mistletoe does not override personal boundaries and failure to kiss under it does not equate to lacking holiday spirit. He moves swiftly through the doorway, placing a handful of forks and knives on the table and taking a seat. Cas lingers for a moment, watching Dean. This drawn out glance would be slightly unnerving if it wasn't so common. Cas is essentially human, now, and with each passing day he's more and more aware of how humans interact and how human society works... but he still lacks a lot of basic common sense. Like, for instance, the etiquette of staring.  
  
... It has not escaped Dean's notice that Cas never directs any long and lingering stares at anyone else, but he chooses to believe it's a "profound bond" thing and leave it at that.  
  
"Alright, alright, we've schooled the angel on mistletoe. Way to go, Sammy. I won't save you if he tries to kiss you. But enough talk - time to eat!"  
  
Cas' expression is inexplicably irritated for a moment, but it dissolves in a swift second and he takes a place to Dean's right. Everyone starts serving plates and Dean half expects Cas to stop everyone and insist they pray before eating. He doesn't, though, and Dean wishes he was more surprised. Cas hasn't spoken of God ever since the apocalypse ended without the Big Man's intervention. Cas' faith is in a garbage dump somewhere beside Dean's amulet. Dean absently touches his neck. It still feels too bare, even now. He pushes away these thoughts, however, in favour of enjoying his family's company.  
  
His family. All together under one roof, eating a big meal together for a holiday. Who would have thought?  
  
"So when are you two gonna find yourself some gals and settle down?" Bobby asks Dean and Cas as the conversation becomes talk of Sam and the beau he's so smitten with.  
  
Dean laughs. "Right after you do, Bobby," he says, sarcastic, but to Dean's surprise Bobby looks a little sheepish.  
  
"Wait - /wait/. Hold on, Bobby - is there a /lady/ in your life?" Dean says, smug and grinning.  
  
Bobby turns beet red. "Shut up, you idjit. It ain't nothing."  
  
"Oh, nothing, Bobby?" Sam asks, his tone gleeful. "Last I heard you said you'd be spending Christmas with the sheriff."  
  
Dean whistles. "The sheriff, eh? Quite a catch there, Bobby."  
  
"Shut up, both of you. That's not what I was talking about, anyway. I'm talking about /you/ two," Bobby says gruffly, gesturing to Dean and Cas. "You don't have to stay hunters forever, you know. You've more than earned the apple pie life."  
  
Cas shrugs. "Romance has never occurred to me before. I don't see the appeal to it." His eyes flicker briefly to the mistletoe, but it's so quick it's almost imperceptible.  
  
Dean notices.  
  
"Nobody gets out of the hunter lifestyle, Bobby, you know that," Dean says dismissively, stuffing his mouth with a forkful of roast.  
  
"I don't know, Dean," Sam contradicts, "I seem to be doing fine."  
  
Dean says something in between chews that sounds something like, "Myeh mut yer a gwrl," and follows it with a big gulp of apple cider. Sam rolls his eyes.  
  
"Well, at least you two have each other. Can't say it isn't cozy in here."  
  
Dean opens his mouth to retort, but then closes it when he realizes he has nothing to object with. It dawns on him that he does, in fact, have Cas. And it /is/ cozy, all warm and decorated everywhere. It's more of a home than Dean has had since he was four and, though he'd never admit it, he kinda likes it. He likes having Cas around, too. Cas has livened up since he started all this holiday crap and his company's not half bad. Beats living alone, for sure.  
  
"At least until Dean finds a mate and settles down, like you," Cas says conversationally, mopping mashed potatoes from his plate with a dinner roll. His words are said casually but Dean can't help but think of the gravity of them. What /would/ Cas do if Dean ever moved out? Human or not, he's still alien to this world. He'd have no idea how to navigate it on his own.  
  
/I'd move him in or something/, Dean silently resolves resolutely. For whatever reason, though, this promise to himself does not satisfy him.  
  
"Yeah, well," Sam says awkwardly, trying to diffuse the weird atmosphere Cas' statement caused, "You're not too bad looking, Cas. I'm sure you've got chicks lining up to be with you, right?"  
  
Cas shrugs again. It's a very human gesture, and it's slightly disorienting watching him do it. But then, so is eating, yet here they are, gathered around a table and feasting together.  
  
The subject shifts to other things, eventually, like recent hunts and Bobby's auto shop and Sam's upcoming return to law school. It's still a little surreal. The apocalypse is really over. No more dick angels, no more fear, no more weight of the world on their soldiers. They're celebrating Christmas. It's friggin trippy.  
  
They drink wine after dinner, a strange change from their normal hard liquor and countless beers. No one complains - not even Bobby. Both Sam and Bobby seem to be making an effort towards self-betterment for their ladies' sake. Dean's not exactly sure why he hasn't hit the liquor cabinet yet, but every time he glances in that direction Cas catches his eye and he changes his mind. Wine is still alcohol, anyway. They all get a little buzzed off it, but it's a warm, comfortable buzz. Sam barely drinks any; he's the designated driver and he's got leave tonight so he can be back to his girlfriend by tomorrow. The night passes in affable chatter with the tv tuned to Rudolph (of course) in the background. It's the happiest Dean's been in a long, long time.  
  
It's about 1am when Bobby and Sam finally say their goodbyes. There are hugs all around and promises to visit more often.  
  
"Thank you for coming," Cas says and Sam grins, giving Cas a hug he'd obviously not been expecting. He looks surprised, but pleased. The expression is so endearing Dean sort of wants to hug his brother again, just for giving Cas the awkward smile on his face.  
  
Sam seems to whisper something to Cas - Dean can't be sure - before letting him go. Cas looks at him curiously as they go.  
  
Once their guests have safely departed, Cas and Dean fall back into the couch, exhausted. The lights are off, save for the Christmas lights, the glow of the tv and the zillions of gingerbread scented candles Cas has on every open surface in the apartment. The movie has ended and the screen is bright blue.  
  
"Put in another one, Cas," Dean says sleepily. Cas yawns.  
  
"... /You/ want to watch a Christmas movie?"  
  
"Shut up before I change my mind. It's Christmas eve."  
  
Cas' smile is almost as bright as the tree lighting his face. He wanders off for a couple minutes and comes back with hot chocolate and blankets, tossing one on Dean and passing him a mug. Dean nods his head in thanks and cuddles up under the blankets. He's content and sleepy from the wine and if he was anyone but Dean Winchester, he'd probably be a little cuddly, too. But Dean Winchester doesn't cuddle.  
  
Cas crawls into the couch, too, after putting on The Grinch, and bundles up under the blankets. He's a little too far into Dean's personal space than is necessarily comfortable, but Dean's too tired to care. Their "fireplace" is on full-blast, and the flat is snug and warm. Nothing in the world could bother him right now.  
  
Dean's eyelids flicker every now and then as the movie begins, but he wants to fight sleep long enough to at least finish his hot chocolate. He's just starting to nod off when he feels a head rest on his shoulder. His eyes blink open and he looks at Cas - who's asleep, now, half-finished cup still cradled in his hands. He's breathing softly and curled up, whole body tucked under the big fleece blanket he has. The weird feeling in Dean's chest is doing backflips. Dean plucks the mug from Cas' weak grip and puts both on the coffee table, then assesses his next options.  
  
Dean really doesn't want to move. He's pretty sure the walls are gonna go vertigo if he tries to stand, now, and he's so comfortable he feels cemented to the spot. Of course, there's Cas, head slowly adjusting to having Dean as its pillow. Dean's sort of alarmed by how little this phases him. He should be freaked out and shoving the sleeping Cas away, but instead... well, instead he's kind of reveling in it.  
  
Dean really, really does not want to acknowledge how perfect it feels to have Cas' head on his shoulder.  
  
 His mind is too hazy to properly come up with a proper course of action, so instead he works on auto-pilot. He adjusts Cas so they can both sleep comfortably side-by-side -- their couch is huge, it's easily possible -- and falls asleep before he can think too deeply on how absolutely, impossibly weird this is.

 

*

 

Dean wakes up to the smell of food cooking—he could seriously get used to this. Smells like breakfast, eggs and pancakes, and Dean's off the couch and in the kitchen as soon as he's conscious enough to smell it. Cas is serving their two plates as Dean arrives, and Cas gives him a hesitant smile.  
  
“I was about to wake you up,” he says, not meeting Dean's eyes. Like he's concerned Dean's going to mock him for getting up early to cook, or something. Dean sort of wants to hug him.  
“Cas, this is awesome,” Dean says as he pulls up a chair. Cas finally looks at him, then, and there's a genuine happiness in his eyes that's overwhelming. Cas has been so unhappy for so long, so broken since the end of the world... it's amazing, see him with so much light in his eyes. Dean can remember the exact moment he'd realized that Cas' fall was going to be more painful than he'd thought before. One night, Cas had woken up in the middle of the night and called Dean's name, voice panic-stricken enough to rouse Dean from his slumber. When Dean, sleepy and irritable, had inquired what was wrong, Cas had said simply,  _they're gone_. He'd slid a hand up and down his own back and whispered it again and again, ignoring Dean's inquiries at first. When he finally snapped out of what Dean could only assume was shock, he'd said, barely audible, my wings are gone. Thus was the final step in Cas' fall.  
  
That was when Cas had become human. He's been essentially cheerless ever since.  
  
But now... now there is vitality to him, something charming and unexpected that causes weird feelings Dean is not okay with, and Dean breaks eye contact abruptly.  
  
“Merry Christmas Eve, Dean,” Cas says, pulling up a chair.  
  
“Merry Christmas Eve, Cas,” Dean echoes absently. He's distracted, contemplating the warmth in his chest. Cas tilts his head but says nothing more. They're quiet as they eat, but it's a contented one that's only slightly awkward because Dean is never quiet. Still, it's an affable silence. Dean irritates himself in that he keeps glancing over at Cas, catching sight of blue eyes that make the weird feelings squirm around. He thinks of how they fell asleep and he feels embarrassed. Had Cas woken up with Dean's arms around him?  
  
“So!” Dean says when their meal is done, “What happens today? It's Christmas Eve, so I know you have something planned.”  
  
Cas bites his lip “It would seem that I should... but I don't. I've run out of ideas,” he admits reluctantly. Dean raises his eyebrows.  
  
“You can't think of anything to do? This is your thing, though.”  
  
Cas looks sheepish. “Sort of anti-climactic, isn't it? I apologize.”  
  
Dean stands up, shaking his head as he clears the table. “Hell no. We're going out with a bang. I'll figure it out.”  
  
“We?” Cas says, looking confused. Cas grabs their glasses and follows. Dean looks at him like he's crazy, stops where he's walking.  
  
“Um, duh?”  
  
“You were... adverse to the idea of Christmas, before. I just assumed...”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Dean says awkwardly, and now it's his time to feel embarrassed. “You converted me, alright? Let's not make a chickflick moment out of it.”  
  
Cas smiles and Dean's getting really, really fed up with the crazy feelings his insides are causing. He looks up, exasperated – and of course, a la chickflick movie – they're under the mistletoe again. Cas notices, too.  
  
“I should take this down, shouldn't I?” Cas asks. His voice sounds strange, though he seems to be aiming for amused. It's not working, exactly.  
  
“Nah,” Dean says dismissively, continuing into the kitchen, “it looks cool, at least. Mind as well keep it. It's not like we have anyone around to kiss, so what the hell?”  
  
“Mhm,” is all Cas says.  
  
***  
  
It turns out it makes absolutely no sense that Cas couldn't find anything to do. Dean has an inkling Cas got a little depressed over the end of the holidays and gave up—but Dean's not having that. Cas lazes around on the couch, watching Rudolph for the eighty-millionth time, while Dean scours the internet. It takes all of ten minutes for him to find a wide range of things to do.  
  
“Cas,” Dean says, “go get dressed.”  
  
Cas looks at him inquisitively. “For what purpose?”  
  
“We're going ice skating.”  
  
Cas smiles again and Dean tells himself he might need to get used to it. He only hopes that smile will stick around once Christmas is over.  
  
“You smell like a grave, Dean. Go shower and we'll go.” Dean can't argue with that logic, so he heads off to the bathroom. They rendezvous in the living room 20 minutes later.  
  
Cas is in a big, oversized Christmas sweater and it's only adorable because it's atrocious. It's got reindeer on it, including one that looks suspiciously like friggin Rudolph, and is knitted and looks warm. He's going all out in looking ridiculous, because he's got on one of those lumberjack hats with the earflaps that everyone's been wearing lately. Dean's not even sure when he got it.  
  
Dean is getting seriously, seriously sick of his heart flipping because of Cas. He should be laughing, not fighting the completely inappropriate desire to hug his roommate.  
  
“Ready?” Cas asks.  
  
Dean has to clear his throat twice before he trusts himself to speak.  
  
“Ready.”  
  
***  
  
Cas can't ice skate.  
  
The first time he falls, Dean loses his breath from laughing so hard, clutching his stomach as his shoulders shake. Cas had glared at him, but seemed genuinely good natured about it and even laughed a little, himself. By the fourth time Cas falls, Dean's starting to get concerned the not-quite-angel might get bruised.  
  
“You're friggin awful, Cas,” Dean says, fighting the smile twitching at his lips.  
  
Cas rubs his lower back as he stands, scowling. “I've noticed.”  
  
“Are you – do you want to like, stop?”  
  
Cas shakes his head vigorously. “Despite my injuries, I am having fun.”  
  
Dean feels a little better about that, but he can't help but feel like Cas would be having more fun if he wasn't falling on his ass every five minutes. Dean crosses in front of Cas, skating backwards.  
  
“Watch me, Cas,” Dean says, “It's not that different from walking. You just have to balance.”  
  
“If that were true, I'd be skating just fine right now.” He wobbles a bit, and Dean reaches out to keep him from falling, grabbing Cas hands. They linger there a moment. Dean swallows.  
  
“It'd be easier to keep your balance if you held on, wouldn't it?” he says evenly, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible. Cas nods.  
  
“I'd imagine so.”  
  
Dean takes a deep breath and thinks briefly that this moment is another borderline something moment, but he waves it off. Cas needs his help, it's Christmas eve and Dean's not going to dick it up because his heart's been acting stupid lately. He's just helping Cas skate. No big deal.  
  
Dean skates so that he's at Cas' left, holding one hand as they go, keeping Cas balanced. His face is red, but it's cold enough that it could easily look like his cheeks are just rosy from the chill. Cas' face looks about the same. Dean is inexplicably disappointed when it occurs to him that Cas really is just cold. This disappointment is disorienting.  
  
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says after they've been skating quietly a while. It's obvious from his voice that he's not just thanking Dean for the balance—it's everything, and Dean's not sure how to deal with a thank you that big.  
  
“Hey, no biggie, man,” Dean says, “What are friends for?”  
  
Cas' expression flickers for a moment, a hint of something... sad?, and his grip on Dean's hand lessens. The lack of pressure feels wrong.  
  
“Regardless,” Cas says, after just a beat too long, “thank you. These past few weeks have been... therapeutic. Well-needed.”  
  
“If anyone deserves it, it's you.” And Dean really, really means it.  
  
 Dean skates around in front of Cas again and grabs his other hand, speeding up their pace as he skates backwards. Cas' eyes widen and his grip on Dean's hand tightens so hard it's amusing. Dean smirks.  
  
“Scared, Cas?”  
  
“I was once an Angel of the Lord, Dean, I've taken on more than one angel at once and I threw a bomb at Micheal’s head. I hardly-”  
  
“Alright, alright, point taken. You're a big badass.”  
  
“Thank you.” As he says this, he loses his footing and falls into Dean, who in turn loses his foot and falls backwards. Dean falls on his ass and Cas topples onto him, pushing Dean backwards into the ice. They lay sprawled there for a minute, Cas' chest against Dean's. Their faces are inches away.  
  
And – Jesus christ – Dean realizes that he really, really wants to friggin kiss the guy.  
  
“Awkward,” Dean says, because it is awkward and there's pretty much nothing else he can say. Cas gets up slower than Dean can handle, but he knows it's because that fall hurt like hell and not for the same reasons Dean would prefer they just lie there as long as they can before freezing. He laments the loss of contact when Cas is finally up. Cas gives him a hand and Dean holds onto it, grateful for the guise of being a helpful. Dean feels a little ashamed. Cas would be freaked out if he knew the stupid thoughts racing through Dean's head.  
  
“Agreed,” Cas says, but his voice sounds strange.  
  
“How long have we been here, anyway?” Dean asks, and Cas checks his wrist – he's one of the few people who actually wears watches and uses them to tell time instead of cell phone.  
“Three hours,” he says, and Dean gapes. It barely feels like it's been forty-five minutes.  
  
“Come on, we're gonna be late,” Dean says, skating towards the exit. Cas blinks.  
  
“For what?” But Dean only grins and skates on.  
  
***  
  
The park is pretty dark, with multiple streetlamps' lights turned out. Cas hovers in Dean's personal space as they walk, but that's nothing new. What is new is Dean's failure to be irritated by it. Dean's pissed at himself for indulging all these stupid weird feelings. Cas is gonna get used to being all up in Dean's personal bubble and it'll be a problem, fast.  
  
Dean's mad at himself for thinking that might not be too bad of a problem.  
  
After a while, they reach the center of the park, and there's a stage. On it, a band is playing Christmas music, beautifully performed and echoing through the park. There are people gathered around, standing or sitting in the provided chairs, listening. Many of them are couples, holding each other or leaning against each other and Dean is seriously, seriously tired of wanting that. He looks at Cas and finds that Cas is already looking at him curiously, head tilted.  
  
“What?” Dean asks, suddenly self-conscious.  
  
“Thank you,” Cas replies, glancing away. Dean swallows.  
  
“Hey, no problem man,” Dean says awkwardly. The band stops playing and a man walks onto the stage, carrying a microphone. “That's the mayor,” Dean quickly explains, eager to break this weird whatever-it-is.  
  
“Why?” Cas asks.  
  
Dean just smirks.  
  
“We're gathered here to celebrate the holiday season,” the mayor is saying, voice loud and very politician, despite the warm atmosphere, “No matter what your religion may be – or lack thereof – this is a time of great festivity, bringing loved ones together. Tonight we will commemorate this special time of year with our annual tree lighting ceremony.”  
  
Cas' eyes light up like fireflies and he looks at Dean, teeming with happiness and gratitude. Dean fights the urge to grab Cas' hand, but he settles for returning Cas' smile with a grin.  
  
A moment later, the park is suddenly alive. First the stage lights up, covered in bright white Christmas lights. Then the tree to its left does as well, and then another, and then a whole succession of them. All around, the park becomes a beautiful maze of glowing light. Cas does what Dean has been wanting to since they got here – he takes Dean's hand. Dean squeezes it briefly, despite himself.  
  
They spend a long time walking through the park like this, hands held, reveling in how magnificent it looks. Dean doesn't care if they're getting weird looks and he doesn't care that this is probably another borderline-something moment. He's content and he's happen and it's more than he's been in a long, long time.  
  
Finally they've seen all the park has to offer and they reach where they started. Cas looks great silhouetted by Christmas lights. He squeezes Dean's hand like Dean had before, before letting go. When they get in the car, Cas is looking at Dean like he's some sort of angel. Which is pretty ironic.  
  
“Thank you,” he says again, and his voice is conclusive.  
  
“Night's not over yet,” Dean says, and he pulls in drive.  
  
*  
  
The diner they pull up to is in New Jersey, just past the border between the state and Pennsylvania. New Jersey's known for its diners, and this one is no exception. It's lit up and decorated everywhere, and Cas' excitement hasn't waned all night. It makes Dean impossibly, inexplicably happy.  
  
Their portions are huge, though, and Cas is eyeing the menu like a giant. Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
“Pick something, we'll split it.”  
  
“But you have the appetite of an ogre,” Cas points out.  
  
“Yeah, well, I'm ordering myself something, too.”  
  
“You're revolting,” Cas says, but his voice is fond.  
  
 Cas orders some sort of fancy pasta thing that is obnoxiously disproportional, coming in a startlingly large plate with meat and cheese, covered in a savory sauce. It easily fits both of them, and halfway through, Dean calls the waitress over to take away his cheeseburger. Dean tries not to laugh at the Lady and the Tramp style dinner – they're sharing a plate because they'd forgotten to ask the waitress for a second one. They're getting a couple weird looks but Dean barely notices them. He's too busy sneaking looks at Cas when Cas is not looking. Cas is making some sinfully appealing mmmhh noises every now and then as he eats, but realizing that is even more weird than everything else he's been feeling tonight and he blocks the thought out completely.  
  
“People think we're a couple,” Cas says conversationally, twirling spaghetti around his fork.  
  
“Yeah, well, let 'em think what they want,” Dean says, dismissive. Because he really doesn't care in the least and that's alarming.  
  
Dean might just be imagining it, but he thinks Cas looks a little pleased with Dean's answer.  
  
“So,” Dean says as they finish their meal, “did you get everything you wanted out of Christmas?”  
  
Cas gives Dean a look that is a little confusing because of how intense it is. “Almost.” His voice is unexpectedly whispery.  
  
There's a strange, strange shift in the atmosphere and they're both quiet, as though holding their breath. Dean subconsciously leans forward and Cas bites his lip. Dean is suddenly aware of how hard his heart is thumping and he pulls back and leans against his chair, putting his arms behind his head.  
  
“Good,” he says, feigning an upbeat tone that's hardly convincing, “like I said, you deserve it. You up for dessert?”  
  
There's a flash of disappointment in Cas' eyes but it's gone in an instant. In reply, he flags down the menu.  
  
He orders two slices of apple pie without consulting Dean, and Dean's a little taken aback that Cas knows exactly what he wants and that he wants it, too.  
  
He sorta wishes that applied to something else, but he's made a habit of pushing down feelings so he does so again, now. It doesn't keep his heart from pounding though.  
  
*  
  
It's late when they get home and they both unceremoniously fall into the couch. Cas looks full and content and Dean feels exactly the same. He knows for a fact that he's never in all his life had a Christmas eve this amazing. He's a little proud that all the planning was done by him, for once, but he knows it would have been nothing if Cas hadn't been there. Just like their little flat – it'd be nothing without Cas there, too. It was a small place, but Dean knows it'd feel way too big without the fallen angel there.  
  
“Tomorrow's the big day, huh?”  
  
Cas nods and says nothing else. They sit in affable silence for a while.  
  
“I'm glad I can spend it with you, Dean,” Cas says quietly.  
Dean swallows his 'me too' because it's the too honest. If he'd spoken it out loud, all the deeper meaning there would have been too evident. He responds with a smile instead.  
  
Cas gets up and turns on their cheesy little fireplace and – oh-so-surprisingly – puts on Rudolph. It would be maddening if it wasn't so endearing. That used to be Sammy's favourite, too. Must be an outcast thing.  
  
“This is the happiest I've been since I lost my wings,” Cas admits after a while. Dean's a little speechless -  
  
wings.  
  
Dean suddenly knows what he's going to get Cas. It's cheesy and stupid and he has know idea if Cas will like it, but he's up and grabbing his coat before he can finish the thought.  
  
***  
  
When Dean comes back, the ending credits of the movie are rolling on the screen. The room is dark, save for the light of the tree. Cas is asleep on the couch while Dean puts a medium-sized gift bag under the tree.  
  
After all this time, it's still a little trippy seeing Cas asleep. Angels don't sleep, and seeing him this way is proof of how human Cas is, now. Still, as long as that handprint scar is burned into his upper arm, Cas will always be Dean's personal angel.  
  
Cas is curled up under a blanket and breathing quietly. The picture of it is so inviting that Dean's weird, stupid feelings are all fluttery and stupid like a chick-flick moment on crack. He's tired as hell and the house is warm and he knows Cas is, too, and finally he doesn't care. He takes off his coat and toes off his shoes and crawls beside Cas, effectively spooning the other man. He's in screw it mode, completely self-indulgent, now, so he thinks 'what the hell?' and buries his nose in the nape of Cas' neck. And, since he's completely going for the whole self-indulgent thing, he wraps an arm around Cas. Merry Christmas to me, thinks his sleepy, clouded mind. He's too tired to even hope that they wake up in a less incriminating position.  
  
He falls asleep quickly.  
  
***  
  
Dean wakes up first. This happens very, very rarely. It occurs to Dean that he might have been a little more excited for Christmas than he thought. He remembers when he and Sam were young, how they'd wake up early because they were too excited to sleep any more. The dawn has barely broken and Dean notices the sky is grey when he looks out the window.  
  
Dean's still holding Cas, exactly the same way they fell asleep. Dean's breath catches in his throat. Cas shifts in his sleep and then Dean hears a yawn.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Dean,” comes Cas' gravelly voice.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean replies in a whisper into Cas' neck. He feels Cas stiffen and instantly removes his arm. Cas grabs it before he can.  
  
“I don't mind if you don't,” he says, weirdly casual, “It's too early. Go back to sleep.”  
  
Dean doesn't know what to say, so he buries his face in Cas' neck again and does just that.  
  
***  
  
When Dean wakes again, Cas is sitting on the couch beside him, holding a mug with what Dean assumes is hot chocolate. He's leaning slightly against Dean. Cas glances over when he feels Dean shifting.  
  
“Hello, Dean,” he says. Dean sits up, still groggy, and Cas hands him a cup of hot chocolate. He takes it graciously and yawns into the cup before drinking. He sees Cas eyeing the present under the tree.  
  
“You got me something,” Cas says, more of a statement than a question.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I got you something as well.” There's a little wrapped package Dean hadn't noticed before under the tree, towards the back.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Open it.”  
  
Dean approaches the tree obediently, grabbing both presents. He hands Cas' to him and sits down beside him.  
  
“We'll open them at the same time,” Dean says, because that's what he and Sam used to do. Cas nods.  
  
“1...2...3.” And they unwrap.  
  
And Dean's mouth drops.  
  
He's holding his amulet amidst the wrapping paper, perfect as it always was. It's the original, Dean can tell. There's a small chip on the left side Dean's familiar with and it's the same size, same colour. But it's not the visual similarities – Dean just knows. He looks at Cas with awe.  
  
“How did you -”  
  
“Dean,” Cas says, and his expression is similar to Dean's. Dean can't help but think his gift to Cas is insignificant in light of the one Cas gave him.  
  
“I – I don't know, it's -”  
  
“Perfect,” Cas says, and he means it. The truth of it is in his voice.  
  
Cas is quickly putting on his gift in a flash and Dean feels a little warm at his enthusiasm. It's a sweater, nothing particularly out-of-the-ordinary, just a big one like Cas likes... the lure of it, though, is in the back. It's got big, plush wings on it, soft and comfortable but artfully crafted and feathered out in fabric so it's comfortable. Cas looks almost gleeful.  
  
“I have wings,” he says simply, running a hand along them.  
  
“I have my amulet,” Dean says, looking at the necklace in his hand like he's seeing a ghost, “but how? You can't exactly poof in and out anymore.”  
  
Cas glances away. “I asked an old friend for help locating it,” Cas says, and Dean's stomach flops. He narrows his eyes.  
  
“Tell me you didn't make a deal, Cas.”  
  
Cas laughs and it puts Dean at ease because it's so nice to hear it, so foreign and so something Dean would like to hear more often.  
  
“I'm an angel, Dean. I don't make deals with demons. I don't even think I can. No.. I summoned Joshua. He was kind enough to help me.”  
  
“Joshua?” Dean asks, confused, “the gardener? He came all the way from Heaven to find my necklace?”  
  
Cas nods.  
  
“Many angels are quite fond of you, Dean, though they'd never admit it. You and Sam saved the world and stopped Lucifer. That is no easy task. Joshua was rooting for you. He was more than happy than to oblige my simple request. He sends his regards, by the way.”  
  
Dean can't stop staring at Cas like he's some sort of miracle worker. He puts the necklace on with trembling fingers. He remembers when Sam gave it to him for Christmas all those years ago. Now, having it returned, is almost just as special. Dean is slightly overwhelmed. Cas had chosen something incredibly dear to Dean's heart, something that had obviously required great thought and a very deep knowledge of Dean. It is painfully difficult not to throw his arms around him.  
  
“Thank you,” they both say at once, and both laugh.  
  
*  
  
“Dean,” Cas says over breakfast, homemade crepes Cas has added to his repertoire of recipes, “I'm very fond of human holidays. When is the next one?”  
  
Dean chuckles. “There's Valentine's Day in February and Easter in April – but Easter's lame, it doesn't count. And Valentine's Day is no fun if you don't have a girlfriend... or, boyfriend, or whatever, to share it with.”  
  
“I see,” Cas says thoughtfully. Dean chews his lip and plays with the amulet around his neck.  
  
Cas' hair is a mess and his wings are so adorable the sweater puts Cas' whole collection of oversized sweaters to shame. Dean's staring hopelessly and Cas is noticing, but Dean's still indulging himself. He tells himself he'll stop after Christmas, that this is just one big present to himself, that he can get over it. That the weird feelings will go away once this all ends.  
  
Dean has a sneaking suspicion that's not true, though.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Dean shakes his head, effectively shaking himself out of his daze. Cas tilts his head.  
  
“Ahh, c'mon,” Dean says awkwardly, “I'm pretty sure there's got to be at least one Christmas special on tv that we don't already have.” Cas doesn't seem satisfied with Dean's answer, but he complies anyway and clears the table. They both leave the kitchen at the same time, yet again caught together at the entryway from one room to the other.  
  
Yet again, under the mistletoe. Dean looks up and Cas follows his gaze.  
  
“Dean?” Cas says again, much quieter this time.  
  
“What did Sam say to you? Before he left, he said something to you.” Dean says, suddenly. Cas goes pale and looks at the ground, clears his throat.  
  
“He said 'Wait for him. He'll come around.'” It sounds very strange to hear such a rough voice sound so small.  
  
Dean's eyes widen and he grabs Cas' shoulder.  
“I asked you if you got everything you wanted for Christmas,” Dean says, and Cas is still staring at the ground, “You said almost. What else did you want?”  
  
Cas looks up abruptly, meeting Dean's eyes full on.  
  
“You.”  
  
Dean loses his breath for a minute, pulse pounding, until finally he succumbs to all the stupid, weird feelings that have been plaguing him and he kisses his angel. Cas' lips are warm and soft and everything Dean's ever wanted, he realizes suddenly. Everything he'd pushed down and not allowed himself to want.  
  
When their lips part, their mouths hover close together.  
  
“Me too,” Dean says, words breathy on Cas' lips.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas says.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Cas.”  
  
  


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	3. The Importance of Hallmark Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it takes is for Cas to assume that Dean has nothing planned for Valentine's day for him to turn it into the best Valentine's Day either of them has ever had. AKA: The one where Dean and Cas have the most cliche Valentine's Day ever.

“It's a Hallmark holiday, Sam. No.”

 

Dean and Sam are sitting at the edge of a dock, feet dangling over the water. At the urging of both Castiel and Sarah, Sam's soon-to-be-fiancee, the two Winchesters are indulging in some long overdue bro-time. Castiel suggested the brothers go fishing – he'd been wanting to try out a new recipe for fish he'd found, anyway – and so somehow they'd found their way to a little lake in New Jersey, about an hour from Dean and Castiel's studio flat in Pennsylvania. Dean's fairly certain there are at least three lakes much closer than this one, but he has a feeling Cas and Sarah are seriously concerned by how little time Sam and Dean spend together and sent them this far intentionally. In all fairness, he  _just_  saw the guy about a month and a half ago. It's not like they're avoiding each other or something.

 

Still, their concern is endearing and Dean would be lying to himself if he said he didn't miss his baby brother. The car ride in the Impala felt a little weird – it was the first time they'd been in it together since they split ways after they shut down the apocalypse – but it was the good kind of weird and after the first 20 minutes the whole 'bonding' thing was well under way. All in all, the trip's been pretty great.

 

Until now, though. The inevitable My Little Brother is Actually Female and Has to Talk About Our Feelings part of the trip. Only Sam could make this considerably less awesome than it would have been otherwise.

 

“Come on, Dean,” Sam says, exasperated, giving Dean the classic puppy dog pout he's worked to near perfection over the years. Dean groans because it's not fair that both his brother and his sort-of-boyfriend-thing have equally potent puppy dog faces. “You know how he is about holidays.”

 

“Like hell I do, Sam, Jesus,” Dean mutters, tugging on his rod for lack of anything better to do with his hands, “Try living with him during Christmas. And freakin New Years, man, the guy was practically jizzing himself, he was so excited when the damn ball dropped.” Dean doesn't expect how his voice softens at the memory. If he closes his eyes, he can still see the fireworks... and feel them, too, the ones he felt when Cas kissed him when the clock struck twelve. Dean clears his throat.

 

“So you should  _know_  – ” Sam starts to say, pouncing on Dean's words.

 

“Know  _what,_  Sammy?”

 

“You should know how important holidays are to Castiel, Dean. You know you have to step up. Make it special for the guy, or something...” Sam's voice trails off. It's obvious he isn't exactly sure what to make of Dean's relationship with Cas. And that makes sense, because Dean has no idea what the hell it is, either.

 

They kiss pretty often, now, seeing as now that Dean knows that the thunder-in-the-heart, sweaty palms, dry throat thing is totally mutual, he has a lot less willpower than he did before. Now if he wants to kiss Cas he just  _goes_  for it. It's a really good feeling.

 

But... that's about it. They 'cuddle' – which translates mostly into just violating personal space when the given opportunities arise – but not much else. Nothing that would give whatever their relationship is a little clarity. They still have separate beds and they still keep their hands to themselves. They don't talk about their relationship, either. There's the occasional, ' _I missed you while you were out_ ' said with such conviction that it makes Dean never want to leave the house, or every now and then the inexplicable,  _'thank you, Dean'_  that Cas never explains or goes into... but aside from that, nothing. 

Definitely no  _'I love you'_ s.

 

“What does that even mean?” Dean grumbles dismissively. By now he's wound up the reel completely and is standing up to cast it back in again.

 

“A little romance, Dean,” Sam says flatly. His puppy dog pout has dissolved into the makings of a bitch face. “Cas deserves it.”

 

Sam is right, of course, but Dean's almost as macho as he is stubborn and he's not quite ready to put his heart and soul into the whole Romeo role just yet. Up until recently, he'd never even been into kissing if it wasn't attached to a promise of sex. Obviously that's changed, but Dean's a little unsure what else there's room to change for. He's sure as hell not writing any poems.

 

“What you see is what you get,” Dean says, gesturing to himself before he casts his reel. “Cas knows that. He doesn't expect anything more from me.”

 

“That's exactly my point. You could make him really happy if you tried, you know. It doesn't take much.”

 

Dean doesn't bother fighting back anymore – what would Sam know, anyway? Sam doesn't live with the guy, Dean does. Dean has Cas' smile memorized by now, and he knows the other man's laugh as well as he knows his own voice. And, yeah, maybe both smile and laugh are a bit sparse... but this is  _Castiel_ , after all. It's a miracle in itself that he smiles at all. Dean's pretty certain Cas is as happy as he's gonna get given the whole 'fallen angel' thing.

 

“I'll buy him some chocolates if it'll make you feel better,” Dean says, pointedly ignoring how Sam's bitch face is amping up to turbo. “Come on, time to change the subject. All the estrogen you're leaking is going to poison the fish.”

 

*

 

Cas can do some amazing things with fish, apparently, because what he makes out of Sam and Dean's catch is nothing short of mouth-watering. This is quite a feat – Dean's never been a fan of fish, especially when it's not deep-fried. Cas' fish is grilled and glistening, doubtlessly  _healthy_ , but Dean gets seconds, then thirds; it's that good. He's weighing the pros and cons of a fourth serving when Cas chastises him.

 

“Dean, you are a bottomless pit,” he says distastefully as he watches Dean scrape the last forkful of rice from his plate, wrinkling his brow.

 

“Don't act like you don't love cooking.”

 

“I do. I also prefer my food  _in_  people's stomachs – which yours won't be if you continue eating. I'm going to have to insist you stop.”

 

“Cas, c'mon – ”

 

“You realize there's dessert.”

 

Dean's complaints die in his throat. Cas doesn't bake nearly as often as he cooks – which is every night – but Cas seems to have gone all out because Sam and Sarah are over. The two fiances look amused, watching the banter between Dean and his angel. Dean flashes Cas a million dollar smile, at which Cas rolls his eyes. Dean is always especially ridiculous when he's being fed.

 

Cas starts clearing dishes and Dean jumps to his feet to help, speeding the process along. Dean loads the dishwasher as Cas gets dessert ready. Cas pulls out small dessert plates Dean was not aware that they had from the back of their cabinet; they're pink, heart-shaped and have  _Happy Valentine's Day!_  written all over in brown script. Dean chuckles.

 

“More holiday spirit?”

 

“They were on sale.”

 

Only recently has Castiel's humanity become less overwhelming for Dean. Several months ago, Dean might have felt guilty that a once mighty Angel of the Lord has been reduced to caring about shopping bargains. Now, he's learned to let it go. Cas isn't miserable, as far as Dean knows, and Dean's been through enough hell (both literally and figuratively) in his life to know better than to dwell on things he can't change. Cas is looking at the plates with a very self-satisfied sort of pleasure, anyway, so  _he_  doesn't seem to be too concerned.

 

Cas pulls their dessert from the oven with heart-decorated oven mitts, and Dean can't suppress a smile. He wonders for a moment whether it would be possible to get Cas a job at Hallmark. Then, the smell of whatever Cas has pulled out of the oven hits him – it's pie, and for whatever reason this realization comes with an arsenal of butterflies to his stomach. He closes the dishwasher and walks over to Cas, sliding arms around the smaller man's waist from behind. Dean can feel the quizzical expression on Cas' face without seeing it.

 

“I like it when you bake things,” Dean says by way of explanation, pressing a kiss to Cas' cheek.

 

“I see.” Cas places the pan on the counter and turns around in Dean's arms so that he's facing him. “I will bake more often, then.”

 

They look at each other a moment – both tense in a weird way, as though each is poised to do  _something_... but neither does. After a brief second of this, the moment is gone and Dean lets Cas go. Cas goes about cutting slices of pie and Dean pours cups of milk. They're both very quiet.

 

 

After dessert and sparkling cider (Sam doesn't drink anymore, and Dean has consented to cut back a little, anyway), Sam and Sarah finally head out. Even as they're pulling on their coats, Dean can feel his heart aching for his little brother. He hadn't even realized how much he'd missed having Sam around until spending a solid few hours with him. Dean's a little surprised that Cas knows him so well, knows his habit of shutting feelings down and casting them out instead of evaluating them like a normal human being. It was Cas' suggestion that Sam and Sarah come visit in the first place.

 

“Don't forget what I said,” Sam hisses as he hugs Dean goodbye – and,  _yeah,_ Dean even missed this. Even the stupid, anal, insufferable aspects of his brother.

 

“Like I said. Chocolates.” Sam's scowl is priceless as he leaves. Sarah gives Dean a hug as well on her way out. Dean likes her, thinks she's good for his brother. Sam's face lights up whenever she smiles and it warms Dean's heart. She's tiny, too, so she makes Sam look even larger and goofier, which is always a plus.

 

“Keep him in line,” Dean tells her, and she smiles.

 

“You got it. Nice to finally meet you – and Castiel, thanks for everything!”

 

“You're welcome.”

 

Castiel's still a little socially stupid, so it takes him a second to realize she's going in for a hug. It's a bit painful to watch, but is above all amusing. He still looks confused even as they leave. Dean shakes his head and closes the door once they're out of sight, looking at Cas fondly. Dean's used to this expression of Cas'. Because, while Cas is making wonderful progress integrating into humanity, he's still puzzled by the simplest things. Dean's not sure what train of thought Cas is on at the moment, but he doesn't bother asking. Instead, he lays on the couch and digs around for the remote.

 

Cas sits on Dean's legs, facing the tv, and sinks back against the couch. It's comfortable enough for the moment, but Dean's pretty sure his circulation is going to be cut off in the next 10 minutes.

 

Dean successfully locates the remote and idly channel surfs. He stops briefly on an advert for Valentine's day candy and Cas grabs his wrist to keep him from changing the channel.

 

“Tell me about Valentine's Day, Dean.”

 

Dean groans.

 

“Shitty holiday, Cas, seriously. Nothing to tell.”

 

“You disliked Christmas as well.”

 

“That's... different.” The guy does have a point, though.

 

“I believe I recall you liking Valentine's Day, anyway.” This is another subtle difference between Angel Cas and Human Cas. Cas has a normal human memory, now. Cas has to  _believe_  he  _recalls_  something instead of having infinite depths of knowledge with crystal clarity at his fingertips.

 

“Yeah, well,” Dean says awkwardly, “I don't need to get laid by angsty Valentine's rejects anymore.”

 

Cas is quiet at that, and it makes Dean uncomfortable. He wishes he could find something interesting on TV.

 

“Why is that?” Cas asks finally, which was inevitable. Comes with the whole 'socially stupid' thing.

 

“Because, man,” Dean says, exasperated, “I – I don't know, I mean, I have you, right?”

 

Cas looks even more genuinely confused at this, brow completely furrowed, expression entirely pensive. Dean's stomach is in knots and he's not entirely sure why. He clears his throat and does the only thing he can – changes the subject.

 

“So! Valentine's Day. The holiday that comes in a box. What do you want to know?”

 

“I don't know. Tell me everything.” Dean's not sure how to tell Cas that Valentine's Day is nowhere near as fun as Christmas, that he's not going to find any seasonally appropriate ugly jumpers to match with it and there's not nearly as many decorating possibilities. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Not much to tell, Cas. It's a holiday for lovers. They give each other candy and gifts. There's a lot of hearts going around. Lots of red and pink. That's about it.”

 

Cas doesn't look remotely satisfied, and Dean scowls.

 

“Hey, you watch adverts – you can get the gist from all the crap they want you to buy. That's all it is. Buying crap.”

 

Cas goes from unsatisfied to irritated fairly quickly. “Tell me about  _your_  Valentine's Days in the past, Dean.”

 

Dean looks at Cas like he's crazy.

 

“Do I look like the kind of guy who – ”

 

“Humour me, Dean. I am curious.”

 

Dean's quiet a moment, summing up Cas' request. After all, Dean's still a little worried that Cas might backtrack, might lose some of the happiness he's slowly gained in the past few months. He'd let Cas keep their Christmas tree up until mid-January, no complaints, because he was so damn anxious that without some holiday to get all cheery over, Cas would regress. He really likes Cas' smile.

 

… Hell, he might even be in  _love_  with Cas' smile.

 

“Okay,” he says finally, “I can only think of one valentine in my life that would actually count. Like – not a bar hookup or anything. Her name was Katy Smith. It was in eighth grade...”

 

Dean waits for Cas to laugh at him, but he doesn't.  _Of course he doesn't_ , Dean reminds himself, _he has no concept of how lame this is_. Emboldened by this realization, Dean plows on with his story. “Me and Sammy were new to the school district. Dad was tracking a chucacabra that kept giving him the slip. Finally he just dropped us off with a hunter pal of his while he went after it. We stayed with that family for about a month. I remember because I was pretty bummed because my dad wasn't around for my 14 th birthday. He was finally gonna let me drive the Impala.”

 

There's a slight note of sympathy in Cas' eyes that Dean picks up on, and takes comfort in. He prides himself on being one of the only people who can read Cas well; he knows few other people would have caught it. Dean's also comforted by the fact that what he sees is not  _pity_. Cas has daddy issues like Dean has daddy issues, and if anyone knows abandonment, it's Cas. Cas seems to notice Dean noticing, because he gives one of Dean's hands a hesitant squeeze. He's awkward, though, because being awkward is his thing, and their hands feel weird. Before Dean has the chance to decide to squeeze back, Cas' hand has released his. Dean plows on again, trying to verbally stampede over the awkward.

 

“But, yeah, Katy. The school was small so we ended up having all the same classes, so our homeroom teacher asked her to show me around. And we just... I don't know. Hit it off. She had dark hair and these crazy awesome blue eyes, I can still remember them. I followed her around like a lost puppy that month. I brought her to this Valentine's Dance at school, went the whole nine yards with roses and shit. I was out of my mind. Never again, man.” Dean chuckles lightly and runs a hand through his hair sheepishly, yet again thankful that Cas doesn't know enough of humanity to make fun of him.

 

“I see,” Cas says thoughtfully, eyes flicking to yet another ad on TV for chocolates. He is quiet until the commercial ends, expression unreadable. “Valentine's Day is... different, then. Well, regardless, I'm buying lawn decorations tomorrow morning. You're free to come with me if you want any say in the appearance of our flat.”

 

_Regardless of what?_  Dean wants to ask, but he says nothing. There is a barely-there hint of... disappointment, maybe?, in Castiel's expression that Dean does not miss. It dawns on Dean that Cas has gathered, from Dean's story, that Valentine's Day is  _not_  a holiday he can participate in. For some reason, Dean feels shame heating his cheeks and he can't make eye contact with Cas anymore. Instead, he puts his arms around the man's waist and tugs him down so that he's cuddled against Dean's chest. They don't say anything – they never do – but their breathing harmonizes on the right frequency and it feels very, very right. Dean wishes he had the courage to do things like this more often, so that it would start to feel more natural. His heartbeat is pounding away a mile a minute in his ribcage, and all the while a small part of him is still afraid that Cas is going to pull away.

 

They end up falling asleep there, chest-to-chest, limbs tangled up with the TV softly playing in the background. The last thing Dean thinks before he falls asleep is that he's going to prove Cas wrong.

 

*

 

“Code Red, Sammy,” Dean says urgently into his mobile. He's in Walmart, pacing around, and everything around him is  _red, red, red_. Red and pink decorations are everywhere, either for sale or decorating the store itself. Giant red hearts with  _Sale!_  and  _Always low prices!_  hang from the ceiling. There is an entire section devoted to festive candy, which is where Dean is currently. Cas is on the other side of the store, looking at lawn decorations. To the former-angel's absolute glee, there are decorations that light up, like Christmas ones. At the point they discovered this, Dean had accepted his fate – that he'd be doomed to forever be living in one of  _those_ homes. One of the flats that decorates for every possible occasion imaginable. If Leap Year had decorations, Dean's fairly certain that their flat would be decked out in those as well.

 

So, it was under the guise of disdain for his manliness that he split up with Cas and headed to the candy section to send an SOS to his little brother.

 

“Dean? What's wrong?” Sam's tone is very serious, and it occurs to Dean that he probably used his I'm On a Hunt and Need Dire Assistance voice, by accident. Oh well. This is still important. At least now he has Sam's attention.

 

“What kind of candy are you getting Sarah for Valentine's Day?”

 

Sam groans. “Are you serious, Dean? All you're doing for Castiel is buying chocolates and you can't even do that on your own?”

 

“What? - What, no, I... changed my mind.”

 

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Sam says, and there's something like gloating lying just under his tone. Dean grips the phone tight.

 

“I. Changed. My. Mind.”

 

“So what you're telling me is  _you_ , Dean Winchester – ”

 

“Changed my mind, Sammy, yes. Jesus. And if I change it again, it'll be your fault. So shut up – no, seriously, shut up. What candy do I buy? He'll be back over here soon.” Despite himself, Dean keeps looking over his shoulder, afraid to catch sight of Cas at any time.

 

“It's a little sad that you need to ask help for this, man.”

 

“ _Shut up_ , Sam. What kind are you getting Sarah?”

 

“Sarah's allergic to chocolate.”

 

Dean groans. “Of course she is. I don't know, I think I might be having second thoughts about this girl. Allergic to chocolate? Really?”

 

“Yes,” Sam says tightly, “But Castiel isn't, which is the point, if you'd kindly stick to it.”

 

“Huffy, huffy. Alright. There's so many damn kinds of chocolate. Should I just grab some Hershey's and –”

 

“ _No_ ,” Sam cuts in quickly, firmly. “This is Castiel's  _very first_ Valentine's Day as a human. It's important that you go traditional about everything.”

 

“Meaning...?” Dean swears that his brother is his gay best friend sometimes, really. He finds it extremely ironic that he's the one in the non-hetero relationship here.

 

Well. Sort of relationship.

 

“Meaning get him the classic heart-shaped box of chocolates that doesn't tell you which kind is which.”

 

“Oh,” Dean says dumbly, dropping the extra-extra large Hershey's bar he's been examining. It looks pretty appealing in his opinion – it's about half the length of his forearm – but Sam is the expert here. Personally, Dean's always annoyed by never knowing what kind of candy he's about to stick in his mouth... but this is about Cas, not Dean. And Sam's right; Valentine's Day isn't really Valentine's Day unless someone gets a heart-shaped box of vague candies. “Alright. Thanks man.”

 

“Oh, and Dean?” Sam says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don't get the cheap Walmart brand one, please.” Dean rolls his eyes, but has to smile to himself. His brother knows him well.

“Fine, fine. I'll spare no expense.”

 

“Good. I'm proud of you, Dean.”

 

“Oh, c'mon, Sam, don't act like I'm the cheapest guy in the world or some – ”

 

“No, not that. I mean... You're finally making an effort to hang on to something that makes you happy. This is the first time in a long time I've ever seen you do that. So... Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

 

Dean suppresses the urge to groan again. Leave it to his chick-flick little brother to make Dean being nice to Cas suddenly some sort of personal present to him.

 

“I'm just trying to show Cas a good time,” Dean says awkwardly, evasively, because he's not entirely sure how to deal with the genuine happiness in Sam's voice. “Thanks, man, I owe you. I'll let you know how it goes.”

 

“If you need help picking engagement rings at any point...”  
  
“I am hanging up on you now,” Dean announces, and does so.

 

*

 

Castiel is vehemently against cupid decorations, on principle, and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved. The little naked, winged babies with arrows freak him out and he'd hate to have them all over the house. He's okay with the array of heart-themed motifs Cas has decided on. The guy is actually pretty awesome at decorating.

 

There are rose-scented candles everywhere, filling the flat with a sweetness that is, thankfully, not at all overbearing. Cas clearly prefers them to proper lightning, so Dean doesn't protest when Cas often jumps up to flick off the lights if they're not using them for a specific purpose. The warm glow of the candles kinda remind Dean of Christmas lights. He muses that their flat is always going to be dimly lit for one reason or another, and finds that he doesn't mind at all.

 

Castiel has the front yard decorated with Valentine's Day things as well. Again, Dean is grateful for the mutual dislike for cupids; he'd seen a rather ghastly lawn ornament of a lit-up cupid throwing an arrow and had been afraid it might end up on their lawn. Castiel's tastes are far classier. The railing that leads up the stairs to their house is wrapped in rose shaped lights. They're very ornate and detailed, gorgeous compared to some of the cheesier options available. The center of the tiny square of grass that constitutes their yard has roses, as well; they are a set of five, plastic and on sticks, each varying in height. Beneath them, on the ground,  _Happy Valentine's Day!_  is written in lights. The roses have lights as well, and the yard looks magical at night. They're the only yard on their block with any sort of festivity, and Dean's surprised he's not as embarrassed as he should be. In fact, he's actually sort of pleased when he overhears the compliments of passersby.

 

Dean takes note of Cas' obvious (if not horrifically cliché) love for roses. His initial reaction, of course, is to add a bouquet of roses to his slowly building plan for the Big Day, but after a day or so of contemplation, he decides that he can do even better than that.

 

 

*

 

“That man we saved today called us faggots as we left,” Castiel says conversationally over dinner one night. It is four days until Valentine's Day. They're at a diner in Delaware and Dean's fairly certain they smell like they've been digging up graves. Which would make sense, because they have.

 

“Are you freaking kidding?” Dean asks after swallowing a big bite of the bacon cheeseburger he's eating. About halfway through the drive home, both men realized that making it all the way home on empty stomachs after a long hunt was out of the question. The flickering diner's sign on the side of the rode had been a beacon. “I swear to God, some people. He wouldn't even be  _alive_  if not for these faggots.”

 

“We must give off the appearance of a couple more than I was aware,” Cas says thoughtfully, between bites of salad. While Castiel's initial dining habits upon becoming a full-fledged human had been almost entirely cheeseburgers, Cas eats pretty healthily now. He says he owes it to Jimmy to take care of the vessel he accidentally, unceremoniously stole from him. When Dean had pointed out that Jimmy was a huge burger fan himself, Cas had just shrugged and said that Dean was missing the point.

 

Dean contemplates this a moment. They're both quiet as they eat.

 

“Are we a couple, Cas?” he asks after a beat. He knows it's an awkward question, but it's killing him and they are on the subject, after all. Castiel tilts his head.

 

“Up until less than a year ago, I was an angel, Dean. Why are you asking me as though  _I'd_  know, if you don't?”

 

Dean gives Cas a look like he's not quite sure what to make of the guy – and really, he's not – and then abruptly laughs. “Fair enough.”

 

They don't say anything more on the subject. They spend the rest of the meal discussing what an ugly son of a bitch their ganked ghost was tonight and whether or not they'll be back in time to catch American Idol.

 

*

 

Two days before Valentine's Day, Dean's getting some seriously cold feet. He can't help it – He's  _Dean Winchester_ , and he's not used to being vulnerable. Pulling out the red carpet for Cas, being boldly romantic... these are things that are way outside his comfort zone. He keeps thinking about the box of candy he got Cas and how roses are on sale right now. That's all Cas needs, really.

 

Then Dean thinks about the look on Cas' face after Dean had finished telling Cas about Valentine's Day.  _I was out of my mind. Never again, man_. The look of disappointment, however slight, on Castiel's face had been unmistakable. Dean hated it then and he hates it now. He doesn't ever want to be the cause of a look like that on Cas' face. It's obvious that Cas' simple holiday decorating gives him a tiny sense of belonging to this holiday, enough to make him a little happy whenever they pull up to the flat and see the glowing roses. But it's not enough. Dean wants to make Cas smile. It doesn't happen often enough.

 

They're cuddled up on the couch watching – and Dean will deny this vehemently if ever questioned on it –  _Lilo and Stitch_  when Cas turns to him and asks, “do beaches really look like that?”

On screen, Lilo and company are surfing on pretty, animated waves to upbeat Hawaiian music.

 

“What? Have you never seen the ocean, Cas?”

 

Castiel shakes his head. “I was never stationed near one and never had cause to visit.”

 

Dean's jaw drops.

 

“Thousands of years on Earth and you've never been to the ocean. That's screwed up, Cas.”

 

Cas tilts his head like he always does when Dean confuses him. Dean just shakes his head – and then, a second later, abruptly kisses him. Cas kisses back, but his mouth feels confused as well.

 

“That was sudden,” he comments when their mouths part.

 

“You've never been to the damn ocean,” Dean says, like this explains everything. On screen, the musical sequence is over and the two men are quickly engrossed in the film again.  _Lilo and Stitch_  is Castiel's favourite Disney film. They watch Disney films a lot. Dean chalks it up to the fact that Cas is new to humanity. He didn't have a childhood to watch kid movies. With this logic, it's easier not to protest when Cas wants to watch them.

 

It's also easier to act like he doesn't actually like watching them, too, if he pretends he's just humoring Cas.

 

*

 

On Valentine's Day, Dean wakes up early.

 

Dean  _always_ sleeps in and Cas usually makes breakfast for them both before he even wakes up, so Dean decided early on that today, he was going to return the favor. He's not the world's best cook, and he's got nothing on Cas, but he's beast with French toast and happens to know that Cas loves it. It is an effort to stay quiet while cooking – he's used to blasting Kansas the few times he's ever actively involved in the kitchen – but he makes sure he's next to soundless so that Cas doesn't wake up.

 

Dean finds big, heart-shaped cookie cutters in a drawer and decides that today is not a day for pride; he cuts their toast into hearts. He sets a tray with breakfast, coffee (for him) and tea (for Cas), carefully lining up their forks on top of red napkins. He bites his lip and looks it over, trying to steady the inexplicably taut feeling in his chest. He takes a deep breath before taking the the tray to the other room, where Cas is asleep on his bed.

 

Dean places the tray on the edge of the bed and pulls open the curtains, letting in early morning sunshine to lighten the room. Cas shifts in his sleep and then yawns. Dean goes to his side and sits on the edge of the bed, gently shaking Cas' shoulder. “Morning, sleepy,” he says softly, and his voice sounds a little funny.

 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says sleepily,  voice groggy from sleep. He sits up and looks Dean over, then catches sight of the tray. A shocked expression slowly finds its way onto his face. A smile twitches at the edges of his lips that makes Dean's heart do crazy backflips he's inexplicably embarrassed of.

 

“Happy Valentine's Day, Cas,” Dean says. Dean's grinning ear to ear, embarrassed of himself for how proud of himself he is. He feels like a little kid coming home from school to show something he's made to his mom, or something. Cas' face lights up when Dean says it – not just the twitching-at-the-edges smile, but a bright genuine one that seems to make the living room feel brighter. He sits in the seat Dean's offered him, looking at Dean like he's not quite sure he believes what's going on.

 

“I thought you said, 'never again'?” Cas says as Dean shimmies into bed beside Cas, pulling the tray to their laps.

 

“Yeah, well, I say that a lot.”

 

Castiel visibly enjoys his meal, closing his eyes as he eats, making quiet noises of contentment every now and then. Dean can barely eat his own meal, he's so caught up in watching Cas. All he can think is how  _surprised_  Cas is going to be – that Cas probably thinks that this is is it. That breakfast in bed is all that Dean has planned. Cas keeps flashing his pretty smile at Dean and Dean's a little afraid he's going to turn into a puddle of melted chocolate if Cas doesn't stop soon.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says when he's done, and his voice is incredibly genuine.

 

“No prob, Cas,” Dean says – and Cas kisses him. Dean is caught off guard. Castiel doesn't initiate kisses very often.

 

“That was... very thoughtful, I wasn't expecting – ”

 

“Hey, man, thank me once the day is over,” Dean says with a mischievous smirk. Cas raises his eyebrows.

 

“I don't understand,” Cas says bluntly, and Dean loves him for it, loves him because he really  _doesn't_  understand, really isn't expecting anything. Cas isn't human enough to expect anything from Dean, and it is because of this that Dean wants to give him everything.

 

“You'll see. But right now, I want you to take off your shirt.” Dean takes the tray and puts it on the floor beside the bed. Cas tilts his head and gives Dean a curious look.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I'd bet my soul that -  ”

 

“ _Dean_.” Whoops. Joking about your soul with the guy who dove into hell to save it probably isn't the best idea.

 

“Uh, I'd bet my  _car_  that you're tense as hell.”

 

“Tense?”

 

“Just take it off.”

 

Cas eyes Dean warily but complies, tugging his shirt up over his head. Dean looks him over, clears his throat a moment and steadies himself. This idea wasn't entirely original. Every magazine with a Valentine's Day section on the rack suggested this. He's watched endless amounts of Youtube tutorials on it. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before clambering out of bed. He disappears into the bathroom a moment, with Cas watching after him curiously, and returns with a bottle of menthol oil.

 

“Lay down on your stomach,” Dean commands, and this time Cas doesn't question. He still looks a little close to panicking, though, and it's not doing much for Dean's nerves. He hums  _Hey Jude_  under his breath, and it seems to relax both of them.

 

Castiel jumps visibly when Dean touches him. Dean knows that his hands aren't cold; it's just suddenly quite obvious that  _no one_  has ever touched Castiel's bare skin before. Not since the vessel has been under his full control, anyway. The former angel's skin is like a wall of brick – Dean would have been right to bet his car, or even his soul, that Cas was tense. The magazines were right. Cas needed a massage big time.

 

It takes a minute or so for Cas to fully relax, but when he does, he's practically putty under Dean's hands. Dean revels in the tiny sighs Cas utters every now and then, takes pride in each sharp exhalation of breath. Slowly, slowly, Cas' taut and rigid muscles become more loose. Dean loses track of time, caught up in the feeling of Castiel's flesh in his hands. This is the most intimate the two of them have ever been with each other. It's... nice.

 

It's also goddamn  _hot_ , but Dean's not allowing his thoughts to go there just yet.

 

Castiel's breathing has slowed to the quiet thrum it usually assumes when he's sleeping when Dean finally deems his work finished. He wipes the residual oil from his hands onto his jeans and then crawls into bed beside Cas. Cas' eyes open, half-lidded. Dean's face is inches from Cas' when he tugs the blankets around them.

 

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean chuckles. He has no idea what comes over him, but he kisses Cas' nose. He's never kissed a nose before, not since Sammy was a baby. Cas tilts his head up and makes a proper kiss of it before burying his face in Dean's neck. This is new for them. They fall asleep curled against each other, the whole room smelling of menthol.

 

*

 

After alternately sleeping and lazing around for several hours more, they finally get out of the house at around 1pm. Dean lets Cas pick the music. It violates everything he, as driver and thus captain of this ship, believes in... but he lets him. He makes it very clear that it's a one time thing, never to be expected or asked for again, but the gravity of the gesture is not lost to Cas. Cas plays The Smiths and Dean doesn't complain. The look of sheer contentment on Cas' face is enough to silence any second thoughts Dean might have as they drive the two hour journey to their destination.

 

“Where are we going?” Cas asks, about halfway through the ride.

 

“West,” Dean answers vaguely, his expression smug.

 

Cas says nothing to this, instead redirecting his attention back outside the window. Dean wonders if it's possible for his face to stay permanently frozen from all the smiling he's doing. Cas is calm and quiet as ever, but Dean picks up on the slight tapping of Cas' fingers on the dashboard. It's enough to show that Cas is excited, eager. It's more than enough for Dean to be beside himself with glee.

 

When they finally take the exit off the highway, Cas makes a strange face.

 

“The air smells...”

 

“Salty?” Dean supplies, and a note of recognition resonates through Cas' expression.

 

“The ocean.” It's not a question; it's a statement. Dean nods.

 

“You guessed it.” With that, Dean pulls into a parking lot and parks the car. Cas is staring at Dean, eyes wide. Dean takes the keys out of the ignition and returns Cas' gaze, both of them quiet.

 

“You can kiss me if you want, man,” Dean says, for lack of anything else to say.

 

Cas doesn't do anything – which is  _extremely_  awkward – so Dean decides to kiss him himself before it gets too weird. Cas' expression hasn't changed much when their lips part, though Dean can see that same smile he's seriously getting used to playing at the corners of the former-angel's mouth.

 

“You do that often now,” Cas says.

 

Dean arches his eyebrows. “What? Kiss you?”

 

“Yes. You used to only do it if I asked you.”

 

“Asked you? You've never asked me to kiss you.”

 

“With my eyes,” Dean explains, and Dean instantly understands. He knows exactly what kind of looks Cas is talking about. They're the loaded glances accompanied by barely-there lip twitches... Dean had subconsciously noticed them every time. Cas is right; Dean used to only kiss Cas when the tension between them was electric, when the atmosphere was thick with the static need for it. Lately, he's been kissing Cas spontaneously, thinking about it after.

 

“Yeah, well...” Dean says, stuttering, unsure how to respond, “What, am I breaking some sort of angel code, or something?”

 

Cas says nothing, only looks at Dean more. Dean shifts, uncomfortable.

 

“Perhaps,” Cas says at last, “but I'm not an angel any more.” And he kisses him. The kiss is longer than there usual ones, so long Dean considers the implications of adding tongue for a split second, but Dean's stomach interrupts these thoughts with a loud, audible roar. He smiles sheepishly, and Cas laughs.

 

“Time to feed the beast,” Cas announces.

 

“The beast says, 'hell yeah!'” Dean agrees, and they leave the car.

 

It's February and it's cold, and the boardwalk is appropriately empty. Thankfully, though, there are still some food places and stands open, and they snag some corn dogs so they can eat as they walk. Their footsteps make a satisfying wooden sound as they walk, looking at the beach from a distance and checking out the few shops that are open. At some point, Cas hesitantly grabs Dean's hand. It feels weird, holding hands, but it would be even weirder to let go, so Dean holds on.

 

After a walking quite a long while, they vaguely hear music coming from the beach. Cas hesitates at the entrance to the beach leading down from the boardwalk, facing the direction the music is coming from. It's already starting to get a  _little_  dark – the day is overcast and the winter sun sets early. Before he has a chance to speak, though, Dean's already taking off his shoes.

 

“C'mon,” he says, holding his shoes in his hands. Cas hesitates a minute before following suit. They walk at first, but soon they're both running to the shore, sand spraying in all directions at their feet. It becomes a race, which Cas easily wins. They forget about the music for a moment and instead focus on the water, which Cas bounds up to, wetting his feet. The air is cold and the water is even colder, but their excitement and the warmth from their run give them some immunity from it. Still, they don't stay in one place in the water, lest their feet get too cold. They both roll up their jeans and splash around, completely abandoning all pretense.

 

The sky gets successively darker until they're finally tired out. They're both trembling by the time they're done and both have smiles practically cemented to their faces. Only then do they remember the music that drew them to the beach, which is still playing. Cas' shaking is pronounced and Dean doesn't think twice before bounding over to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close as they walk towards the source of the music.

 

A short walk away, they find a small band of college kids playing music that sounds like – and probably is – from the 60's. Dean can only describe it as 'beach music', and it's got a fun, upbeat tone to it that makes Dean feel all kinds of happy. Before he can think better of it, he grabs Cas around the waist and then they're _dancing._ Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it, especially because Cas' initial reaction is to freeze up and stare at Dean like he's crazy. Dean isn't deterred, though, and after a moment Cas just goes with it. He lets Dean spin him around and then does the same, and they look absolutely ridiculous.

 

Dean hasn't danced since middle school, since Katy Smith, and he's pretty sure he's  _never_  let himself go like this before. After a while of stupid spins and other silly dance moves, they default to a slow-dance. The band loves them, and appropriately changes their tempo to match their new pace. Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder as they spin, while stars slowly dot the sky. By the time they look up again, the sky is alight with them. This beach is far enough away from everything else that there are more stars than either of them have ever seen before. The view is awe-inspiring.

 

They don't leave til the band packs it up, everyone wishing them Happy Valentine's Day very enthusiastically. Dean's arm never leaves Cas' waist the whole time, and his face is burning pink from pride from the nature of the looks the bandmates are giving them. It's the same look people give newlyweds, the same earnest smile people flash happy couples when they're warmed by the love that they see. Dean realizes that he and Cas probably made this band's night. He wishes he has a better word for what he's feeling than  _butterflies_ , because that's a goddamn girly word. He can't think of anything more accurate, though.

 

Dean can already see the  _thank you_  on Castiel's lips before he says it, as they reach the car. He hurries to cut him off.

 

“Not yet. We're not going home yet.”

 

Castiel looks positively stunned... and something else. There's something else in his eyes, something warm and impossibly sweet and – and  _something,_ and Dean can't even handle it. He looks away.

 

They drive about 20 minutes and pull up to a place surrounded by high hedges that hide the interior. There are roses in the hedges and lights laced in the branches. A huge, wooden double-doored gate stands in the middle. On it, in fancy black script, are the words  _The Greenhouse_. Dean's become fairly enamored of the inquisitive look Cas has been giving him all day, and only smiles and shakes his head when Cas directs it at him when they walk up to the doors. He opens the door and Cas' jaw drops.

 

There are flowers everywhere. Dean has taken special notice of Cas' love for roses and pounced on it. Extensive googling found him this place. It is a restaurant set up in a greenhouse. There are flowers on every surface not used for eating. The utensils are plant-inspired in a decidedly not-girly way, and the handles on the wine glasses have vines on them. The waiters and waitresses are all covered in plants or flowers of some sort, and roses hang from chandeliers on the ceiling. All the walls are glass, and a garden can be seen extending past the back door.

 

“Reservation should be for 'Dean and Castiel Winchester',” Dean tells the hostess at the front sheepishly. Dean's not sure if he's imagining the faint blush on Castiel's face when he hears that he's been included under Dean's last name.

 

“Right this way,” the woman says, and leads them through the greenhouse and out the backdoor, through the garden. Dean laughs at Castiel's confusion as he turns to look at the restaurant over his shoulder. He sneakily grabs Castiel's hand. Cas returns his grip, giving him a bright and easy smile.

 

… Yeah, Dean could really, really get used to that smile.

 

The garden is like a small, uncomplicated maze, with hedges making little sections. The waitress shows them to a tiny section with a table with two places set – the sections are all little, private dining places. The section is outside, surrounded entirely by roses. There are roses in the hedges that surround the section, and lights in the hedges, just like out front. There are candles and flower petals on table as well. The ground is soft grass. Castiel remains speechless.

 

The waitress gives them menus and pours them wine, then leaves them to contemplate their meals.

“This is beautiful,” Cas says finally, once she's gone. His voice is very small. He's looking all around – at the flowers, the candles, the sky looming over them.

 

“Yeah?” Dean says. He doesn't know what to say – he's so proud of himself he's almost uncomfortable. Castiel leans across the table and kisses him, long and slow, and Dean just about melts. Spontaneous kisses are even more rare for Cas than they are for Dean. He savors it like it's candy.

 

The order spaghetti, subconsciously repeating what they did on their first “date” by splitting it. The waitress looks like she's about to spontaneously combust with how cute they are, and she keeps giggling awkwardly and looking genuinely pleased to be around them. Dean doesn't have the heart to be annoyed. Like with the band members, all he can do is be pleased by how much secondhand happiness he and Cas are bringing people.

 

Castiel keeps kissing him, and it's deliciously out of character. They have a mini fight over a meatball and Dean eventually gives up and lets Cas have it, and Cas drops his fork and kisses Dean. Dean says he likes Cas' shirt and that gets a kiss, too – just about everything Dean does is suddenly overwhelmingly endearing. Dean has this feeling on his chest he's been trying to name all day, and he's pretty sure he has a word for it, now.

 

And he wants to say it, too. But he's afraid.

 

When dinner is done and paid for, the waitress leads them even further into the garden. They lace fingers instinctively, now, as soon as they're out of their seats. Cas doesn't bother with the inquisitive look now – instead, his face is a picture of anticipation, eager to find out what comes next. What does come next is a section of the garden that is simply a garden in itself. Here, Cas can pick a bouquet of flowers for himself.

 

“They were selling flowers at the supermarket,” Dean says, “but I figured it'd be cooler if you could pick em yourself. I'm bad at this kind of thing.”

 

Cas is visibly exuding excitement as he strolls around picking flowers. They split up, walking around, and Dean bounds over to Cas every time he finds a flower he deems worthy of adding to Cas' bundle. Together, they end up with an assortment of flowers that don't look like they go together at all (probably because they don't). It's an odd-looking bouquet and it fits them perfectly.

 

*

 

The Impala smells like flowers. Strangely, Dean's ego is not at all wounded by this would-be slight to his manliness. He's too distracted by how handsome Cas' face looks, framed by the comically large bouquet. Castiel requests AC/DC on the ride home and Dean briefly considers the idea that God might have hand-crafted this angel to him.

 

Thinking of the handprint on his shoulder, Dean thinks this might not be too far-fetched an idea.

 

The drive passes in relative silence, but it's a warm and comfortable one. Driving is slightly difficult because Dean has one hand in Castiel's, but it's not too crippling. More than anything else, it's wonderful – this whole night has been wonderful. Dean tries not to replay the night in his head too much while he's driving, because he's afraid he'll get so giddy he'll cause an accident. He makes a mental note to begrudgingly thank his little brother for being so anal.

The glow of their festive decorations is a welcome sight. The word  _home_  burns bright in Dean's head, and it's not a word he ever thought he'd be acquainted with. He'd always thought he'd be living as a nomad in motel rooms, alone with his brother, for the rest of his life... and here he is, pulling up to the same flat he's lived in for months with a man he's just spent  _Valentine's Day_  with. His life has turned out so much better than he ever dared to hope.

 

And yeah, the few times he did dare to hope it never included a fallen angel and a studio flat in Pennsylvania, but Dean has absolutely no complaints with the way life has turned out for him. For once, he is truly, honestly happy. The best part is that he has a really strong feeling that this is something that's going to stay – he's finally starting to get confident that this isn't going to be pulled out from under him any time soon.

 

Cas sets his flowers on the coffee table and flops onto the couch, eyes meeting Dean's. They're all lit up like the stars they've been looking at all night. Dean walks past him to the hallway closet, brushing Cas' hair as he walks past.

 

“One last thing,” he says, pulling something from the top shelf. He takes a seat beside Cas and hands him what he's holding – the chocolates he bought, and a card. The card is about as classic as it gets. After spending about an hour  _very_  pissed off in the Hallmark section of the local CVS, he abandoned it for the Arts and Crafts aisle. The card he hands Castiel now is completely handmade. It's got everything every enthusiastic, crafty kindergarten girl's Valentine's Day card would have – lace, hearts, glitter.

 

Sam  _did_  tell him to go traditional. Dean figures Cas has no basis of comparison, so he has no idea how far off the cheesy deep end Dean has gone. He is seriously grateful for this fact.

 

There's a simple  _Be My Valentine?_  message inside, and Cas reacts enthusiastically by tossing the card next to the flowers and wrapping his arms around Dean's neck, whispering “Yes, Dean, I will be your Valentine,” into Dean's neck. His token formality makes Dean chuckle. He wraps his arms around Castiel's waist and tugs him down so that they're cuddled together, lying on the couch. Cas presses kisses up and down Dean's neck that make him tingle in more ways than one.

 

And there it is again, that feeling on Dean's chest that he's been pushing down all night. Tha feeling that comes with three words that keep burning on his tongue. They are insistent, pushing at his lips, willing themselves from his mouth. They want to be spoken. Dean is terrified.

 

Cas looks up and meets Dean's eyes dead-on.

 

“May I say thank you, now?” Castiel asks, and Dean grins and nods. Castiel presses a kiss to Dean's mouth. “Thank you. I'm pleased you made an exception for me.”

 

“I'll always make the exception for you, Cas,” Dean replies, and is startled because it's true. So true, in fact, that he's inspired to let the words lingering on his lips finally manifest. He takes several deep breaths and twirls a tiny bit of Cas' hair around one of his fingers.

 

“Cas?” he says hesitantly. Another deep breath.

 

“Yes, Dean?”

 

“Uh – shit.” There is nothing romance novel about this. What the movies and books never tell you is that this shit is  _hard_  and he's already messed up big time, already lost the chance for eloquence... but if he doesn't say it now, he knows he never will. Cas doesn't say anything else, just looks at him curiously.

 

“Uh – so, uh. Cas, you make me feel...” This is positively painful. Cas' naivety is doing nothing to help; where a normal person might have figured out what Dean was trying to say, Cas only stares. His stare is deep and penetrating and Dean is quickly starting to feel like the world's biggest idiot.

 

“I'm in love with you,” he finally forces out, and watches Cas' eyes turn wide and saucers. “Yeah. There we go. Said it. I love you, Cas. That's, uh... that's it.”

 

Cas continues to watch him, brows wrinkled in what seems like confusion. Dean wonders suddenly, quite panicked, whether angels – fallen or not – even  _can_  love, if he's imagined everything. That this isn't mutual, that he's been feeling something that isn't there.

 

But then Cas is kissing him, again and again, squeezing close against him and wrapping his arms around Dean's waist. They're chest-to-chest, face-to-face when they stop to breathe, and Cas finally replies.

 

“It is about time, Dean Winchester,” he says breathlessly.

 

Dean raises his eyebrows, honestly shocked.

 

“What? - Wait, do you, uh...”

 

Cas kisses him again, then once more.

 

“Yes, Dean. I love you, too. Happy Valentine's Day.”

 

They don't say anything else, simply lay there in the dim light from Castiel's many festive candles. The air is floral and the room is quiet. They are  _happy_. As they drift off to sleep, all Dean can think is that he finally, finally understands the importance of Hallmark holidays.

 


	4. Kiss Me, I'm an (Irish) Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's no secret that Cas is a holiday junkie, but this time Dean doesn't know a damn thing about the holiday. Thankfully, they know someone who does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank dotheunstuck over on tumblr ENTIRELY for this fic. Google yields absolutely no results when you try to research an authentic holiday, but she was kind enough to share her family experiences with me. She also encouraged me to make a proper fic of it and not the half-ass thing I originally intended.

“Are we Irish, Dean?”

Castiel and Dean are sitting on the couch of their studio flat, sipping hot tea and playing Uno. If ever asked, Dean would very fervently insist that he drinks only coffee, and never the pansy herbal teas Cas has gotten into recently... but for right now, he can silently concede that tea is awesome. Dean has no idea what flavor this is – he's sure Cas mentioned it, but he wasn't paying attention and he'd never heard of it, anyway – but his taste buds are doing all kinds awesome things and he's glad he didn't object to the steaming teacup when offered. Dean is not sure when they acquired a tea pot, but there's one full of hot water on the coffee table where their cards are.

“Uno. You suck at this game,” Dean says distractedly, placing down a wild card and smirking at the lone card remaining in his hand.

“Dean?”

“Don't be sore because you suck and I'm going to win -”

“Dean.” Castiel's tone is firmer now, attracting Dean's attention. Cas has to use this tone often. Dean is not the best listener. Dean looks up from his card.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Are we Irish?”

Dean doesn't say anything for a second – he's stuck on Castiel's phrasing of his question. We. Are we Irish? That small, two-letter word gives Dean a weird, fluttery feeling in his stomach. We. As though they are a pair, that whatever Dean is, Cas is. That they are two parts of a set. He knows that Cas didn't think of any of that when he phrased the question, knows this strange feeling is random and without reason, really... but it causes him to pause, nonetheless.

“Hell should I know? Why do you ask? Your turn, by the way. Color is blue. ”

Cas glances at his hand and frowns, plucking a card from the deck. His expression brightens almost invisibly as he places the card, another wild, down.

“The color is now green. And... never mind, you've answered my question.”

Dean frowns at Cas.

“No cryptic bullshit. Why do you ask?”

Castiel looks away. “I was only curious.”

“Angels are sucky liars.”

“Quite.” Castiel is quiet, eyes focused intently anywhere but Dean. Finally, Dean grabs his jaw and tilts his face so that the other man has to look at him. Cas sighs.

“St. Patrick's Day,” he mutters, barely audibly.  
Dean instantly laughs, letting go of Cas' face and ruffling the former-angel's hair affectionately.

“You're like a junkie, man.”

“I don't understand.”

“A junkie – you're addicted to holidays. St. Patrick's Day? Really?”

Castiel shifts awkwardly.

“It's your turn,” he says, indicating the cards on the coffee table. Dean draws a card.

“Cas, nobody celebrates St. Patrick Day unless they're getting shit-faced at an Irish pub. Which we can totally do, if you really want to celebrate.”

Castiel looks visibly disappointed, then... slightly irritated. He tosses a card into the pile, almost spitefully.

“Irish Americans celebrate it, Dean,” he says tightly, “which is why I asked if we're Irish. Obviously we're not.”

“I wonder if they make an AA for holiday addicts,” Dean says, essentially ignoring Cas. Cas glowers.

“I want to make the best of my humanity, Dean.”

Oh. Cas went and used the h word, which always makes Dean all kinds of uncomfortable. That familiar, sinking guilt he's been working on vanquishing settles into his stomach. He can't help but picture what Castiel's wings must have looked like, how he will never get to see them...

“Listen, Cas -”

“I believe you've won, Dean,” Cas says, gesturing to their card game. “I just played a green nine, and you have a blue nine. Congratulations.”

He unceremoniously stands from the couch and walks away. Dean can hear him in the kitchen, taking things out of the cupboards. Baking, Dean muses, and while he's a little upset he can't help but think how endearing it is that his little fallen angel bakes when he's angry. It is several minutes later when Dean realizes that the card he's holding is an upside-down six, not a nine.

He hasn't won anything.

*

Dean comes home later that night with a plastic bag under his arm. Cas is in bed with another cup of tea and a Vonnegut novel, wearing reading glasses, and Dean smiles softly at the sight. They haven't had the chance yet to talk literature, but the fact that they have the same taste in authors makes him feel warm all over – like years and years could pass and they'd still find new things to talk about. It is with renewed courage that he walks over to Cas and sits on the edge of the bed, silent until Cas finally looks up and acknowledges him.  
“Can I help you?”

Dean clears his throat nervously.

“I, uh - I googled, Cas, and I can't find shit. When I look up St. Patrick's Day traditions, I just get the same damn story about the actual dude, St. Patrick.”

“I had the same problem,” Cas says slowly, removing his glasses.

“But, uh,” he reaches into the bag he's holding and pulls out a sweater. It's a St. Patrick's Day one, about as attractive as the collection of awful sweaters Cas has from Christmas (which is to say, not much). It's green and has an interesting design of shamrocks on it. It says “Kiss me, I'm Irish!” because Dean's sure that's about as traditional as he can think of. Cas' eyes instantly light up and Dean is relieved.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says warmly, taking the sweater and pulling it on over the tank top he'd been wearing as pajamas.

“Hey, no problem. I'm, er, sorry we're not Irish.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. Dean thinks it's kinda weird to see a former-angel roll his eyes, but he thinks he likes it, anyway. It's amusing, at least. It's such a human gesture for someone so foreign. Dean looks over Cas in the sweater and a tiny smirk creeps onto his lips when he rereads the words. Cas follows Dean's gaze, looking down at the writing. Then he looks back at Dean.

“You're thinking you should kiss me,” Cas states.

“Yes.”

“If it helps, I'm thinking the same thing.”

So Dean does.

*

Hey, you've reached the Winchesters – or, I guess you haven't since this is our voicemail. Leave your name and number and if we like you, we might call back.

“Hey, Dean – the Winchesters, eh? Did you guys get some secret wedding I wasn't invited to? Anyway – not why I'm calling. I'm calling about Friday. I was wondering if Sarah and I could come stay over you guys' house? I know it's dumb, but Sarah's got a thing about St. Patrick's day. Her family is really, really Irish. Like half-her-family-is-ginger Irish. Who woulda known? Anyway, her parents are going to Ireland for the holiday and she's pretty bummed she can't do a big family thing for it. So I thought we could give it a try? Talk it over and let us know. It'd be great to see you guys again.”

Dean's practically beaming when he hangs up the phone after listening to the voicemail. Cas is in their tiny dining room eating breakfast when Dean tells him the news.

“I've got a certified leprechaun coming to teach us about St. Patty's, Cas,” he says cheerfully, helping himself to a piece of toast from Cas' plate. Cas wrinkles his brow.

“Leprechauns aren't real, Dean,” he says.

“That is so not true. But not my point, either. Sam's fiancee is Irish and they want to come over and celebrate.” Cas drops his spoon in his oatmeal, and a genuine smile creeps across his face. Dean can't help but smile back.

“That's excellent,” Cas remarks.

“Thought you'd say that. Should I call em back, or -”

“You haven't called them back yet? Dean! Call them at once!”

“Love it when you get all bossy,” Dean teases, but doesn't miss the hint of blush that the statement brings about on Cas' face. There's a train of thought Dean almost goes down, but he stops himself and dials Sam's number instead.

“See you in two days, Sammy,” he says cheerfully when Sam answers. He can hear a female cry of fuck yeah! in the background, and he decides yet again that he really, really likes Sarah.

Dean's about to have an actual conversation with Sam when Cas cuts him off abruptly, tossing his jacket at him as he pulls on his own.

“We have to decorate,” he says urgently when Dean raises his eyebrows at him. Dean only laughs.

“Gotta go. Martha Stewart over here just caught some green fever.”

*

Castiel's favorite color is green. He announces this on their way back from shopping, after spending a fair amount of the day picking out various shades of green decorations that compliment each other. Dean thinks idly that Sam and Cas are both secretly women and therefore should hang out more. They'd be excellent girlfriends.

“What's yours?” Cas asks, looking at Dean as he drives. Dean starts to reply that he doesn't know, but he catches sight of Castiel's eyes just as he's opening his mouth, and he changes his mind.

“Blue,” he says decidedly.

Something seems to swell in Cas, and Dean looks away. Sometimes he still has trouble dealing with how much and how often he feels around Cas, the great depth and extent of his feelings. It's most overwhelming when he sees them reciprocated, when he catches small glimpses into the heart of the man he is very much in love with.

They stop at a stoplight and Cas leans over and kisses him. He kisses him again and again until the car behind them starts beeping because the light has changed. They break away, and Dean gets chills by what he sees in Cas' eyes.

*

“I'd believe leprechauns are real faster than I'd believe fairies are real,” Dean argues, wiping flour from his face, “and fairies are real.”

“Dean, I've been stationed on this Earth -”

“Thousands of years, yeah, yeah, I know. And if a leprechaun was real you'd have seen one. Well, I think they're crafty little fuckers, Cas. That's what I think.”

“So crafty they've escaped the attention of angels?”

Dean and Castiel are in the kitchen, and they're covered in flour. Cas more-so than Dean – despite being the regular cook of the two, he seems to have an affinity for making kitchen messes. Every counter is covered with various baking ingredients. They have at least four different types of shamrock cookie cutters.

“Yes. That crafty. You've got flour on your nose.”

“I always do.”

“Last time I tried to kiss it off, it tasted awful. So I'm not doing it again.”

“The gesture was appreciated, regardless.”

“Hey, Cas?”

Cas looks up from the dough he's cutting into a shamrock shape, looks at Dean inquisitively.

“I, uh – I love you, dude. Seriously.” It comes out even more awkward than it did in Dean's head, but Cas just smiles, wipes his hands on his apron (appropriately St. Patrick's Day themed – their collection of aprons is growing at a startling pace) and slips his arms around Dean's waist.

“I don't say it very often,” Dean says sheepishly, now uncomfortable meeting Castiel's eyes. Cas kisses him.

“Neither do I. Do we have to?”

“No,” Dean says slowly, as though this is a fact that has only now occurred to him. “No, we don't.”

“Knowing is enough for me, Dean. I love you, as well.”

Dean wipes the flour from Cas' nose with his thumb, then wipes his thumb clean on Cas' apron. Then, they go back to cutting shapes out of cookie dough.

“I think that was powdered sugar,” Castiel says eventually, as Dean puts the cookie tray into the oven. There's at least a dozen tiny shamrock-shaped sugar cookies on it. Later, they'll ice them with green frosting.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Which means, you could have kissed it off.”

“Nose kisses are awkward anyway, Cas.”

Cas gives a look that is startlingly close to a pout, and Dean is instantly smirking.

“You know, if you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask...” With that, he plucks some powdered sugar from its container on the counter and tosses it at Cas. Cas' face is immediately covered in white dust, and his mouth forms a little 'o'. Sugar falls from his eyelashes when he blinks.

“Dean Winchester-”

“Hey, now I have an excuse to-”

And then Cas is cracking an egg over Dean's head, his expression one of smug satisfaction. It's now Dean's turn for his mouth to fall wide open. It's not just because Cas egged him... it's because of how incredibly spontaneous the action was, how unangelic and human and friggin wonderful.

The state of the kitchen quickly falls to shit soon after, as all-out war breaks out. Flour, sugar, eggs and chocolate chips all become viable weapons. If it was a mess before, it is now a landmine, a disaster area. It's so much fun, though, that cleaning up after doesn't even feel daunting. Cas plays some weird Irish music, and Dean surprisingly finds that he doesn't mind much. He might even kinda like it. Dean skates around the kitchen floor in his socks while he sweeps, kicking up plumes of white dust. At one point he starts dancing with the broom, but Cas doesn't like that much – he takes the broom from Dean and dances with him instead.

Hours and hours later than they intended to leave the kitchen, they collapse onto the couch with a tray of their cookies. Cas puts a sheet down first, so their messy clothes don't dirty the couch. The cookies turn out damn delicious. What's even sweeter is how Cas sits snuggled against Dean, his head laid on Dean's shoulder.

“We're covered in food,” he points out after they've finished all the cookies. They hadn't actually planned on eating everything already – the cookies were meant to be around when Sam and Sarah come over... but they can always make more. “I'm going to go take a shower.”

“No-oh,” Dean whines, “I'll fall asleep before you get back.”

“You can't fall asleep covered in food, Dean, you'll attract ants.”

“Well, I'm coming then,” Dean says decidedly. He stands and treks ahead of Cas to the bathroom. Cas follows hesitantly, a peculiar, nervous expression on his face.

“Dean?” he says very, very quietly from the doorway. Dean ignores him and turns on the shower.

“Dean,” Cas repeats, but Dean just pushes open the shower curtain and climbs into the shower with his clothes on. Cas' eyes go wide.

“Dean, what are you doing?” he asks, incredulous. He has this look on his face like he thinks he might have missed some sort of Earth tradition in all his years observing them. He's obviously never seen a man shower fully clothed before.

… Which, of course, makes sense.

Dean just grins and grabs the shampoo, pouring it into his hand as his clothes are steadily soaked. Cas hesitates, but finally peels off his socks and clambers in after Dean. Warm water hits his face and gooey flour starts running off instantly.

Dean grabs a washcloth and helps wash off Cas' face, and he can't help but think this is up there with the weirdest things he's ever done (making rank with ganking the homicidal Puerto Rican clown's pet chupacabra that one time) – showering, fully clothed, with an Angel of the Lord. Or, former angel. Same basic idea. There's nothing remotely sexual about it, either. There's no pretense, it's not leading up to anything. It's just...

Silly. They're being shamelessly silly. Dean hasn't been this silly since Sam was young enough to laugh when he made funny faces at him.

“How are we ever going to get dry, Dean?” Cas asks once they're just about clean and the hot water is just starting to taper off into a much less satisfying lukewarm temperature.

“Uh. Shit. That is a good question.”

They end up stripping down to boxers and undershirts, leaving a sopping pile of dirty clothing in the bathtub. They wrap up with towels and then get a big blanket and cocoon together on the couch. Dean had intended to maybe put a movie in, but Cas feels warm against his body, despite the fact that their underclothes are still damp, and he doesn't want to move. So he doesn't.

Dean's thoughts are starting to travel elsewhere, somewhere he's never even considered letting them trail before. It's hard not to – this is the first time he's been this close to Cas with this little clothing. He tries to push the thoughts out, and his sleepiness assists.

Soon, they both fall asleep.

*

The mid-morning light streaming through the window looks slightly green when filtered through festive green curtains. Dean awakes to this odd, cheery glow with his face in Castiel's hair. He hadn't intended to sleep through the night on the couch with Cas, but the minty shampoo he's currently inhaling smells nice, and he's not complaining. Dean smiles when he realizes Cas probably chose the scent on purpose. Mint and the color green go hand-in-hand, and green goes hand-in-hand with St. Patrick's Day. Dean is quietly pleased with himself for understanding Castiel's rationale.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says when he feels Dean stir, alerting Dean that Cas is already awake.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says quietly. His eyes flicker to the coffee table where the empty try of cookies sits. “We ate them all,” he adds.

“I see,” Cas concedes, “We'll need more for Sam and Sarah. They're coming tonight, St. Patrick's Day is tomorrow.”

“We'll do that today,” Dean agrees, “but later. Right now, I'm pretty comfortable with you right where you are.”

Cas says nothing to this, but Dean can feel him relaxing in his arms. Dean quickly falls asleep again to the sound of Castiel's quiet breathing and the feeling of the other man's chest rising and falling against his own.

*

When they wake again, Cas changes into green pyjama pants covered in shamrocks and an overlarge black Kansas shirt that looks suspiciously like Dean's. Dean follows suit, changing clothes, deciding that a day in pyjamas sounds good to him. He can't get over how much he likes the way Cas looks in his clothes, and has half a mind to tell him. He's not exactly sure why he doesn't.

Cas plays his loud Irish music – which he's informed Dean is a mixed playlist of Dropkick Murpheys and Flogging Molly – and they get to baking again after a late breakfast. Soon, they've replenished their cookie supply and then some. They add green cupcakes to the mix, and Cas has a recipe for “Guiness chocolate cake”, which they try out. Unfortunately, Dean thinks it's funny to add twice the amount of Guiness the recipe calls for, and it turns out awful. Cas pouts until Dean gets a text saying that Sam and Sarah will be bringing their own Guiness chocolate cake, and then he brightens considerably.

Several hours later, Sam and Sarah show up with cake, as promised. Sarah's face lights up when she sees all of Castiel's decorations. Sam's carrying several brown shopping bags, which Dean helps to carry in.

“Hello, Sam, Sarah,” Castiel says, and while his tone is level, Dean can sense his underlying eagerness.

“Hey Cas! The house looks great,” Sarah says, “Just like when I was a kid. It's perfect.” Cas practically beams at this praise, and Dean swells with pride.

“Thank you,” Cas replies warmly.

“We brought some ingredients for Irish soda bread,” Sam says, gesturing to the grocery bags, “we were going to make it at home, but Sarah thought you guys might appreciate being involved, for authenticity's sake.”

Cas nods eagerly, confirming this theory, and Sarah looks like a kid at Christmas.

“Maybe we should leave 'em to it,” Dean suggests, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table. Sam agrees and sits beside Dean. They're quickly immersed in a conversation about the wendigo that Cas and Dean tracked down last week while Sarah and Cas go about preparing the bread. Sarah pulls buttermilk, baking soda, flour, sugar, and butter from the bags and sets them on the kitchen counter. She makes herself at home in their kitchen, pulling out round tins from their cupboards as Cas watches eagerly. Dean and Sam watch the other two all throughout their conversation, both of them with matching expressions of absolute fondness. Dean catches this look on his brother and is pleased. He's happy that this girl makes him so happy. She's getting along well with Cas, too, so Dean figures she's a keeper.

Sarah is tickled pink (or green, as it were) that there's a spare St. Patrick's Day apron for her to use when she and Cas prepare the bread. The consistency of it looks weird from Dean's vantage point, but he figures that's probably the point. He's never had Irish soda bread before, and he's sure neither Sam nor Cas has, either. Finally, they put the bread in the oven.

“Now then,” Sarah says, wiping her hands on her apron before removing it, “time for leprechaun traps.”

The two brothers and their former-angel raise their eyebrows in identical expressions of skepticism, and Sarah laughs. She has a pretty laugh and a smile that lights up her whole face.

“Oh god, humor me. It's tradition, okay? Are we doing this holiday right or what?”

“Alright, alright. We'll humor you,” Sam says right away. Dean mimes a whipping motion, but grins and nods her on.

“The story goes that leprechauns roam about the night before St. Patrick’s Day, and if you can trap one, you can get their gold,” Sarah begins explaining.

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Dean interjects.

“Right? So let's do it! This was so much fun when I was a kid – and Winchesters are basically a bunch of overgrown kids, so let's have at it.”

They pair off, the Winchester brothers as partners and their respective significant others as partners. Sarah and Cas huddle in the corner of the room secretively, hiding their project from the boys. Dean catches sight of glitter and green construction paper, and declares valiantly to Sam that they're going to defeat their enthusiastic lovers. Sam just chuckles and shakes his head.

At some point, Sarah catches Dean leaving the hallway closet holding a revolver. He's tying string around the trigger.

“Dean!” she chastises him sharply, “we're catching them, not killing them!”

Both Sam and Dean look sheepish. “Old habits die hard,” Sam explains. Dean gives her a cheesy smile and shrugs.

“It's instinct to gank the little f-”

“Dean! They're mischievous, not evil,” Cas chimes in. Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Thought they weren't real?”

“Hypothetically, of course.”

“Right.” Dean puts the revolver back in the closet and goes back to Sam, and they go back to making their trap without lethal weapons. After an hour, both teams are done and ready to unveil their traps.

Cas and Sarah have decorated a small box with green decorations, glitter, and a rainbow made of construction paper. Atop it is a pile of gold chocolate coins. Cas and Sarah demonstrate how, given the slightest pressure, a trapdoor beneath the coins will fall in. They look very pleased with themselves, but Sam and Dean are not impressed.

The brothers' trap is slightly more... aggressive, and much less decorative. It also features a box with a trapdoor, but theirs is much bigger; it goes up just above Sam's knee. The front of the box is cut open so that the box looks almost like a tiny house. There are strings hanging from the “ceiling” of the box, and taped to the strings are little baggies of Lucky Charms. Dean tugs on one of the strings and a pile of VHS tapes falls through the fake ceiling – the tapes were hidden by a second box that was taped over the first box.

Cas and Sarah blink at it several times.

“Where – where did you even find VHS tapes?” Sarah inquires.

“Cas and I had them. He went through this phase where he wanted to go through old technology – he's trying to do the whole human experience firsthand. Weird, right?” Dean flashes Cas an affectionate smile. “So we had them in a box in the closet. I saw them when you made me put the revolver back...”

“This is exactly the kind of thing I used to do when I was a kid – it's awesome, guys. Really original.”

“We figure the crash of the tapes wouldn't kill the little f- er, little darling, but it'd wake us up so we could catch him.”

“So! Do we win?” Sam asks. Sarah and Cas exchange looks, and finally Cas nods subtly. Sarah turns to the boys.

“Yes, I think you do,” she tells them. Dean and Sam respond enthusiastically with high-fives and bro-fists, and Sarah rolls her eyes.

“What's our reward?” Dean demands.

“Awesome Irish food tomorrow,” Sarah says, “Speaking of – our bread should be done, Castiel. Wanna see what you do to it when you take it out?”

Cas follows Sarah into the kitchen, and Dean and Sam follow after a moment later, curious themselves. All three watch as Sarah pulls the tins of bread from the oven and wraps the bread in damp tea towels. It's one of the weirdest things ever Dean's seen as far as baking goes, but he doesn't say so. Sarah promises that it'll taste amazing in the morning.

By this time, it's quite late, and everyone concedes that sleep sounds good. Sarah and Sam change into matching green pyjamas, which Dean instantly teases them about. Cas and Dean are still in theirs from earlier, so they don't need to change. Cas offers his bed to Sam and Sarah, and Dean offers the couch to Cas, insisting he take the floor rather than Cas. There's an awkward moment where they both stare at each other, and Sam and Sarah giggle. Dean glares at them.

“We can share the couch, Dean,” Cas says very quietly, and Dean nods. They crash on the couch very often, but it's only ever when Cas is too tired to get up and go to his own bed. It's sort of an unspoken rule that they don't plan it out. Still, Dean's too tired to object further, so he crawls onto the couch and scoots so that Cas has room. It's dark and quiet in the room for a while before Cas squirms a little closer to Dean, pressing his back to Dean's chest.

A moment later, Dean happily wraps an arm around Cas.

*

Dean wakes up to the feeling of being pinched hard on his arm.

His eyes flicker open and he looks around wildly, surprised to find Cas' face very close to his, smiling in the morning light. He moves his arm away from Cas quickly, sitting up and rubbing it, making a face.

“Ow! What was that for? There are other ways to wake a guy up, y'know.”

“Happy St. Patrick's Day,” Cas says, “You're not wearing green.”

“I just woke up!”

“Everyone else is wearing green.”

“Cheaters,” Dean mutters, still rubbing his arm, but he's quickly distracted by the smell of food coming from the kitchen. Across the room, Sam is waking up as well – it seems that Sarah and Cas woke up before both of them in order to make breakfast. The aroma is tantalizing; Dean can make out the telltale scent of bacon and eggs. He stretches sleepily a moment before letting Cas lead him to the dining room, with Sam trailing behind. There, the table is already set with food.

The soda bread is on the table, wrapped in its tea towels, beside a jar of honey and a dish of butter. There is a serving dish with what looks like pancakes in the form of shamrocks, though they have a strange consistency. There's another plate with bacon, another with eggs, and a dish with sausage and potatoes. Each place set at the table has a glass with green milk in it.

“Holy shit,” Dean says, looking at Cas and then at Sarah, who has just walked in from the kitchen.

“You're welcome,” Sarah says, “and the pancakes are called 'boxty' – they're potato pancakes. Very Irish.”

“It looks amazing, guys,” Sam says, giving Sarah a delicate kiss. Dean's eyes dart to Castiel's mouth instinctively, but he doesn't act on the impulse. It's still kinda weird kissing Cas in front of Sam.

“Happy St. Patrick's Day,” she says, and Dean and Sam echo it before sitting down and digging in. Cas sits close to Dean, and more than once Dean catches Cas staring at him fondly as he eats. It feels awesome and slightly uncomfortable. In a good way.

After their breakfast, everyone piles onto the couch to watch a St. Patrick's Day parade on tv. There isn't one reasonably close to them, unfortunately, and they are otherwise too stuffed to move, anyway. Cas' eyes are trained intently on each passing float on the screen with such scrutiny that Dean silently likens him to a scientist investigating a specimen. This scientist loves his work, though; Dean can almost feel the enthusiasm seeping from his stoic sort-of-boyfriend where their sides touch on the couch. Cas is definitely a holiday junkie.

Hours pass with animated chatter and exchanges of anecdotes, each enjoying one another's time. Before long, Sarah announces it's time to get started making dinner – she and Sam have a long drive and they'd like to be on the road before the sun goes down. She enlists Castiel's help in this endeavor, and the two of them file into the kitchen. Sam watches them go quietly for a moment.

“You seem more different every time I see you, Dean,” Sam remarks in a low voice. In the kitchen, the sound of pots and pans and conversation promises that Cas and Sarah cannot hear them.

“Yeah?” Dean replies awkwardly, keeping his eyes fixed on the television.

“Yeah. You're... I don't know.”

“I'm what?” Dean asks, suddenly defensive.

“In love,” Sam says finally, looking relieved to have found words for it. Dean's mouth falls open and then clamps shut. Sam looks at him curiously, wearing a bemused expression.

“So, what of it?” Dean says at last, crankily. Sam smiles.

“It's just nice, man. That's all. Just really friggin nice.”

Dean doesn't say anything. He likes seeing his little brother happy and it's not something he's used to seeing. He knows a lot of it has to do with Sam's new life with Sarah, with quitting hunting and ending the apocalypse... but he's also learning that it has a lot to do with him, too, and Cas. His relationship with Cas. Sam gets secondhand happiness from knowing that Dean is happy. Dean is just realizing this now, and it's a really good feeling.

“Friggin nice,” Dean repeats, and then nods. “Friggin nice is right.”

*

Cas and Sarah have outdone themselves again, somehow accomplishing a spread that looks even more inviting than breakfast had. ( Dinner Description! ) The little family gathers around the table and they all take their seats, helping themselves to portions of the food laid out. Flogging Molly is playing in the background from the kitchen.

“Hey – before we eat, there should be a toast. Family tradition. Dean, do you want the honors?”

“Uh, sure,” Dean says and stands, holding up his glass, “To St. Patrick's Day?”

“To St. Patrick's Day!” Sarah repeats, confirming that this is an okay choice for a toast, much to Dean's relief. Everyone drinks from their cups. Dean looks at Cas when he sits down, absorbs the little fire in Cas' eyes that is surely burning straight from is heart. Dean wishes every day was a new holiday Cas could learn about, if it always gained this reaction from Cas. Cas looks alive and in love with humanity, and in this small moment Dean doesn't feel guilty at all that Cas isn't an angel anymore. Cas has always loved humans, been enamored of his Father's creations, but only now can he fully appreciate life as one. A little good came from Cas' fall, and Dean seizes it gratefully.

Cas clears his throat and stands, raising his glass as well. The other three fall silent.

“To family,” he adds, and Sam, Sarah and Dean all repeat it firmly, heartily, before drinking to it. Cas looks warmed by their response. Dean takes Cas' hand when he sits down and kisses his knuckles before letting go to eat. Cas examines his hand briefly after that, which amuses Dean to no end.

“We should do this every year,” Sarah says through bites of beef.

“Agreed,” Cas replies readily, and Dean and Sam contribute their assent. They make plans to do it again at Sam's place next year. Cas' eyes are wide while this conversation goes on, as though he's in shock that he's lucky enough to get this again. Dean is inexplicably unhappy with this look on Cas. He wants to tell Cas no, stop looking so surprised when good things happen – but he knows that only time can make that change come about. Hell, he's still working on it himself.

He's getting there, though. And if he can get there, Cas sure as hell can, too. Dean looks forward to approaching that goal. Together. He's pretty sure neither of them can do it alone.

*

The sun is just making its mind to set as Sam and Sarah bid their goodbyes, driving off in Sam's douchey new escalade. Dean made sure he made fun of Sam about the car as often as possible while he stayed over, so he doesn't feel compelled to mention it again as he watches his brother drive off. Cas is practically glowing in his green sweater, eyes bright and lively. He and Dean go inside only after Sam and Sarah are out of sight.

Flogging Molly is still playing unassumingly in the background, its soft volume at odds with its bold sound. Cas' arms are around Dean before he can even finish locking the door, pinning Dean in place so that Cas can look at him with the full intensity of his gaze. And intense doesn't even begin to cover it – there are so many feelings in this look, such a wide range of deep emotion that Dean feels almost trapped. Dean wonders if Cas had to fall to feel these things, or if these feelings are what made him fall. He swallows, hard.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean smirks and rolls his eyes because he has no idea how else to deal with the weight behind Cas' gratitude.

But Cas won't have that. He frowns, grabs Dean's chin and directs him so that he has to look at Cas.

“No – really, Dean. Thank you... for sharing your family. For... everything. For giving me something worth falling for.”

Dean's chest feels tight. He clears his throat.

“You gotta stop thanking me every time there's a holiday,” he says lightly, carefully dancing around all the poignant things Cas has brought to the table. “This one was all Sarah, anyway. The Winchester-style St. Patrick's Day is way less fun.”

Cas looks extremely unsatisfied with this answer, but Dean doesn't know what else to say. Because, what do you say to the guy who saved you from hell, fell from heaven for you, and is now thanking you? So, Dean maintains an easy smile, despite Cas' expression, which is dangerously close to a pout.

“We can still do that, by the way,” Dean says.

Castiel tilts his head to the side. “Do what?”

“Have a Winchester St. Patrick's Day. Because, y'know, for all Sarah's family fun, she missed the biggest part of the holiday.”

“And what is that?”

“Alcohol,” Dean says, smirking, “No one can drink like the Irish, baby.”

“Baby?” Cas echoes, making a face like the word tastes bad in his mouth.

“Yeah! So, what do you say? Wanna get hammered, Irish style? I know this awesome pub in Delaware.”

“Dean, that's at least an hour from here.”

“Worth it, man. Totally worth it. We'll take the speedline, it won't take long.”

Cas frowns, seemingly searching for excuses. Of course, there are a million reasons why an angel shouldn't go get drunk... but Cas seems to be struggling to find any relevance in them now. Dean waits for Cas to reply anxiously, unsure why he suddenly wants this so bad.

“Alright,” Cas says at last, and Dean kisses him.

“Sweet! - but let me get changed. A little green pin isn't gonna keep me from being pinched where we're going.”

*

Dean's shirt brings out his eyes, and Castiel comments on it as they get walk to the speedline. It's, thankfully, around the corner from their house. They're walking hand-in-hand – and it's as awesome as it is awkward. Several houses down, a a conservative Republican neighbor is shamelessly glaring at them. Dean winks at her, stops Cas so he can kiss him demonstratively outside her house. The woman goes inside.

Castiel likes the speedline, for the most part, but seems visibly agitated when they go underground. Dean speculates that it might be an angel thing, not liking to be underground. Dean thinks of birds, how odd they look when they're sometimes trapped in the lower levels of speedline stations. He can't help but put an arm around Cas' shoulders when he thinks about the former-angel's lost wings. He really, really wishes he could see them. Cas looks at him skeptically, but settles into Dean's hold after a while.

It's dark and getting late when they arrive at the classic Irish pub, and the building is crammed with people, all having a great time. Live Irish music is playing loudly from a back corner of the bar, and people are dancing. Dean soaks up the atmosphere, thinking idly of the last time he got drunk with at an Irish pub. He'd picked up a very pretty and very drunk ginger girl, then. He chuckles when he thinks of how much things have changed.

Cas is hovering closer than usual – he is foreign to humanity, and it manifests in social awkwardness. Dean reaches for Cas' hand and squeezes it, then leads him to the bar. Several stools down, a busty girl in a short kilt and a tight green vest is eyeing Dean with hungry eyes. Dean catches Castiel glaring and it makes him feel all funny inside. He kinda likes seeing this side of Cas, this trivial human jealousy. He is very taken aback when Cas kisses him suddenly, with much more passion than either of them is accustomed to. Cas wipes his mouth when they pull apart. Dean raises his eyebrows.

“That was interesting,” Dean remarks. Castiel clears his throat and looks away.

“My apologies.”

“Hey, you don't have to – ”

“We should order drinks, correct?” Cas cuts in, and Dean lets it drop. He wants to tell Cas he can do that as often as he wants, but he doesn't know how to say it. Plus, he's pretty sure that Cas only did it to piss the other girl off. He's not entirely sure angels are into that kind of stuff, otherwise.

“Hell yes we should. And I gotta say, man, I'm pretty excited to see what your tolerance is without angel mojo.”

A person next to Cas gives them a very confused look and moves a seat down. Dean smiles at him and waves over the bartender.

“Happy St. Patrick's Day!” the bartender says heartily. He is a large man in a kilt, with an appropriately full and ginger beard. He has a thick Irish accent that adds to the authenticity. “What can I get you boys?”

“Surprise us,” Dean says, “something traditional – as long as it gets him drunk.” The bartender returns Dean's grin and nods, turning away to make their drinks. Castiel looks nervous, which Dean finds incredibly endearing.

“We're gonna loosen you up,” Dean says, but this doesn't seem to comfort Cas. If anything, it seems to make him even more anxious. Dean realizes that Cas may never have actually been loose before. Dean, for sure, can't think of a single time Cas was even the slightest bit uninhibited. He's extremely excited, and tips their bartender well when he returns with their drinks. He has two pint glasses filled with Guiness beer and two shot glasses filled with something unrecognizable.

“Irish car bombs,” the man explains when both Dean and Cas look at him quizzically.

“What? A drink I've never had? I guess there's a first time for everything.”

“You split a can of Guiness,” the man explains, “ - you two seemed like the splittin' type – and drop the shot glass into the pint. Don't look at me funny, boys, it's got hard tack an' cream innit. Then you gotta chug it before the cream can curdle. They'll get you mighty shlossed in a quick minute. Taste like chocolate.”

“Chocolate. Right,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow. But he shrugs and raises his shotglass and motions for Cas to do the same. After a moment's hesitation, Cas complies.

“To us!” Dean says, and drops the shot glass in the pint. Cas does the same, and they quickly chug down their drinks. Both of them wear matching expressions of surprise and delight.

“Those are awesome,” Dean says, and Cas nods vigorously. Dean is beyond pleased with Cas' reaction, and he quickly orders two more, and then two more. It's soon obvious that the alcohol is affecting Cas – he has next to no tolerance without his angelic homeostasis backing him up.

“Wanna dance?” Dean asks. Dean's still mostly sober, but he feel feel a buzz starting and it's enough to get him on his feet. To his shock, Castiel complies without coercion, and readily follows Dean to the where the musicians are playing. Several people are dancing in traditional Irish style with varying degrees of talent. The dance requires a lot of moving around, and it's fun and upbeat. Dean and Cas can't keep up with the complicated foot movements, but they join in anyway, locking arms and spinning around and otherwise making fools of themselves. They're not the only awful dancers there – there are plenty of people who are drunk witless – so they fit right in. To Dean's surprise, Cas laughs the whole while, grin uncharacteristically wide.

The night passes with alternating dancing and drinks, until even Dean is drunk, and Cas is so far gone that he tries to get Dean to dance on a table with him. He's sitting on the table, about to stand up, tugging Dean close by his forearms, while lively Irish music plays busily in the background. Dean almost complies, but he's pretty sure they're so inebriated they'll end up injuring themselves. He clings to the tiniest bit of common sense his intoxicated mind can muster up and refrains, instead pulling Cas close into a deep kiss to distract him from his whim. He ventures for tongue and someone nearby whistles, and then two more whistles follow. Cas melts into the kiss, throwing his arms around Dean's neck and responding enthusiastically. This is incredibly new. They've never done this before, and certainly not in public.

Then Cas remembers why he's sitting on the table and abruptly breaks the kiss and stands up, wobbly, offering a hand to Dean. The table is long and fairly wide, and Dean figures Cas has a better chance of not falling if he's up there with him, so he finally relents and joins Cas. They link arms and spin around until they nearly fall and Dean puts his arms around Cas and draws him close in an effort to slow their pace. Cas kisses him again, and this time several people cheer.

They stay until the pub closes, waving excitedly to everyone as they leave, shaking hands here and there.

“The Irrsh are awesmm!” Dean slurs happily as they walk to the speedline, arms linked as they go. Cas just laughs and nods in agreement. They luck out and catch the last running train of the night and spend the ride huddled up together in a seat in the back, Cas nuzzling into Dean's neck affectionately as Dean presses kisses he's only half-conscious of into Cas' hair. After the first half hour, Cas tilts his head and kisses Dean again, with the same passion as before. Tonight is the first time they've ever really made out, and they spend the ride making up for lost time.

They almost miss their stop because they're so distracted and out of it, and Castiel's trench coat nearly gets caught in the doors as the speedline departs. They laugh way too hard over this, and walk with shaky feet home. At some point they stop and dance in the vacant street, trying in vain to replicate the fancy Irish dance steps they sort-of learned tonight. They move on when they almost fall, and finally make it home.

As soon as they're inside, Cas shoves Dean against the door, clutching Dean's jacket with both hands. Dean is reminded of the time in the alley when Cas beat the living shit out of him, and his heart thunders in his chest. This time, though, Cas presses their bodies together and then their mouths, his kisses more fervent and aggressive than the lazy, sloppy kisses on the train. Dean responds eagerly, letting alcohol work on his behalf, helping him act on all the latent desires he's been suppressing. The same seems to be true of Cas, who is pulling off his shirt and then quickly tugging at Dean's.

They make it to the couch in a tangle of limbs, entwined as tightly as possible once they lay down. Dean's breathing is coming short and shallow now, and he notices with a jolt that Castiel's is, as well.

“Baby, you're so hot,” he babbles, vaguely aware that he sounds ridiculous.

“Not a baby, Dean,” Cas interjects between kisses, pausing only long enough to speak, “I'm thousands of years old.” His hands trace Dean's thighs over denim, come to rest at the hem of his jeans. Dean stops short.

“Holy shit,” he says, stopping Castiel's hands with his own. “Cas – Dude, Cas.”

“What?” Cas looks annoyed and smacks Dean's hands away. Dean immediately regains his grip.

“Cas, you're – you're a virgin, like a thousand year old virgin, you can't just...” Dean wishes liquor wasn't making it so hard to think and talk.

Cas makes a sound somewhat like a growl. “You don't want me, then?” He mouths at Dean's neck, then his ear, as though trying to prove a point, and Dean stifles a mewl.

“No! I do, I do, Cas – no, you don't get it,” Dean's wondering at what point he got this drunk, and curses the last three car bombs, “it has to be... special, damnit. 'Cause you're... special. It can't be some drunken thing we won't remember.”

Cas stops at this, seems to be thinking it over. He sighs, forces himself up on his forearms so that he can look at Dean properly.

“Very well,” he says quietly, “but it will happen.”

“Hell yes,” Dean agrees readily.

“Will you... sleep, with me? In my bed?” Castiel asks hesitantly, eyes darting to the bed they've never shared before. They've crashed on the couch haphazardly in the past, but it's never been a planned, agreed upon thing. There's something that seems almost formal about this. Like it's the start of something. Dean catches his breath, and then nods. He plants a kiss to Cas' nose and smiles.

They make the transition from bed to couch and cuddle up under the blankets. Dean is the little spoon, for once, and he finds that he doesn't mind as much as he would have expected. He feels safe in more ways than one.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas whispers sleepily.

“I love you too, Cas.”

“I like being Irish with you,” he adds as he starts to drift off. It's a drunken sentiment, but Dean understands.

“I like being Irish with you, too, Cas. I really friggin do.”

Please [drop by the archive and comment](../../493969/comments/new) to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!


	5. Laundromats Are For Losers, Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous, non-holiday fic this time! In which Dean and Cas suck at getting their laundry done, Dean is awkward and Cas has a penchant for oversized clothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and awful but I really wanted to write! Written at 2am, don't judge me. I didn't even spellcheck. Zirra requested a fic about an ugly t-shirt. I think this counts?

Dean and Cas are very bad about getting laundry done.

 

Sam was always the one who kept Dean tidy and presentable, was always the one to remind him they needed to hit the laundromat or point out if he had food in his teeth. Dean never had to worry about keeping his shit together. But Sam's away and practically married now,  and Dean's like a college kid on his own for the first time.

 

It doesn't help that for a while Cas had some sort of ultra-convenient angelic homeostasis going on ever since he took on a vessel – the guy's clothes never got gross, the blood always disappeared and nothing ever needed to be changed or cleaned. Hell, he didn't even need to shower. Now that Cas is human, he doesn't have that convenience anymore. He's just taking his damn time getting used to remembering that. Needless to say, between the two of them, laundry tends to fall to the wayside.

 

“Cas, can you bring me my Zeppelin shirt and some boxers?” Dean calls from the bathroom. He's freshly showered, hair still slightly dripping, bare but for the towel clinging snugly to his hips. Cas is in the other room, snuggled in bed, the bedside light on while he reads. There is a long pause before Cas responds.

 

“The shirt is dirty,” he replies gruffly after a moment.

 

Dean has absolutely no recollection of wearing that shirt recently. In fact, he knows for a fact that it's clean because he put it away in the back of the drawer so he wouldn't accidentally grab it if he was in a hurry to get changed before a hunt or something. He makes an annoyed sound and leans his forehead against the door frame.

 

“No it's not,” he says irritably, “Just go check for me.”

 

“Dean,” Cas says in an even tone, “it is  _dirty_.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Cas, can't you just go look?”

 

“I'm reading.”

 

This answer only serves to further irritate Dean. He's 'stranded' in the bathroom – he's never been naked around Cas before, and vice versa, and he really doesn't want to start now. Even with a towel, it'd be weird. They don't have any official rules about it, and after their interesting St. Patrick's Day... thing, Dean's pretty sure Cas would actually  _enjoy_  seeing him so indecent... but it would still be weird. Dean's still  _very_  aware of the drunken promise he made Cas – it's one of the few things he does remember of that crazy, amazing night – and his heart and stomach do weird flops whenever he thinks about it. If he didn't know better, he'd think  _he's_  the virgin contemplating losing his innocence.

 

So Dean's been treading lightly, cutting kisses short, fast-forwarding racy scenes in movies, cautious about the inevitable. Cas, to his credit, has said nothing about Dean's strange behavior. Still, Dean's on one side of the bathroom door without the shirt he has suddenly decided he  _will_  wear today, even if it takes all day to find it, and he doesn't want to keep hiding. Cas is obviously uninterested in helping.

 

Dean darts from the bathroom to their shared chest of drawers and hastily grabs some boxers. Cas is in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin as he reads. Dean rolls his eyes at the sight and then darts back into the bathroom to pull on his boxers. Dean's usually fine with their tiny studio apartment, has never minded not having a bedroom or having space for his own bed... but awkward moments like these are ones where he's seriously considering renting out a bigger space. Sharing a motel with your brother your whole life is infinitely different then the extremely complicated whatever-the-hell-it-is he's got going on with Cas.

 

Dean leaves the bathroom again, and while in his boxers he's no more covered than he was with the towel, he feels a lot less exposed. He can't help but note the way Cas glances up from his book subtly and looks Dean over, eyes tracing Dean's bare chest. When their eyes meet, Dean expects Cas to look away – but Cas never learned human things like when to be embarrassed. Cas just keeps looking at Dean's eyes until Dean looks away, tugging open the drawer to look for his shirt.

 

His shirt is not where he left it. It's not in the drawer that follows, either, or the rest – he goes through all of them, goes as far as taking them out and emptying them on the floor before conceding that it is, in fact, not there. He looks up at Cas, expecting to see him looking vindicated. Instead, he finds Cas looking flustered and studiously avoiding his eyes. Dean doesn't bother trying to decode the look and instead heads for the hamper where they keep their dirty laundry. He starts loading it into a bag before Cas speaks.

 

“Dean – what are you doing?”

 

“I'm gonna do the laundry, Cas. I want that damn shirt.”

 

“You're – you are intrinsically stubborn, Dean. It's nighttime, surely they'll be closing soon.”

 

“Whatever. I'll be back soon. I need to put jeans on first, though...”

 

“Dean, must you always - ”

 

“Jesus, Cas, I'm not gonna be gone long.”

 

Cas sits up, pushing the covers from his chest and then clears his throat. Dean's so caught up in loading the laundry bag that he doesn't get the point at first.

 

“It's not in there, Dean,” Cas says, after a moment of going unnoticed.

 

“Well shit, Cas, it's gotta be some...” Dean's voice trails off when he catches sight of Cas. Cas is red-cheeked and flushed, clearly looking like a child who's been caught doing something wrong. The cause for this blush is not lost to Dean; Cas is wearing his Zeppelin t-shirt.

 

“Everything else was dirty, Dean, and we were going to bed soon anyway. I didn't realize you would... My apologies, I'll take it off and find something else.”

 

Dean's across the room in an instant, stopping Cas' hands at the hem of the shirt as he's taking it off.

 

“It's okay, Cas,” he says quietly, crawling onto the bed and breaching Cas' personal space. Cas tilts his head.

 

“You wish to wear it, Dean. It's yours.”

 

Dean shakes his head.

 

“I like it better on you.” And it's true. Dean can't explain how nice it feels to see Cas in his clothes. The shirt's a little big on Dean; it's  _way_  too big on Cas, oversized like all of Cas' ridiculous sweaters and it's so adorable Dean's not sure how to handle it. Guys shouldn't be allowed to be  _cute_ like this. Dean's having trouble processing it. Finally, he heaves a deep breath and then puts a hand to Cas' cheek and kisses him, who practically melts under his touch.

 

“You should wear my clothes more often,” Dean says against Cas' lips. Cas meets his eyes, as though trying to determine whether Dean is serious or if it's another earth thing that's gone over his head. Dean's not joking, though, and Cas can see.

 

“I should?” Cas says dubiously. Dean kisses him again, long and slow and unlike the short kisses he's been limiting himself to lately.

 

“Mhm. All the time,” he says when their kiss breaks, voice lower than it ought to be, “I think it's  _hot._ ”

 

Cas goes tense all over at this, and Dean chuckles at the effect his words have on Cas. He then crawls under the blankets and shuts off the lamp. After a moment, he feels Cas lay down, too. It's not long before Cas has inched his way next to Dean. There's a loaded moment when Cas' face is inches from his, where both man seems ready to do something, anything, but Dean breaks it by rolling over and cuddling in close to Cas, accepting the role as little spoon as Cas slips an arm around his waist.

 

“Got it, Cas?” Dean says sleepily, yawning all the while, “All the time.”

 

Dean can feel Cas' nod at the top of his head.

 

“Got it, Dean.”


	6. The Case of the Mysterious April Antics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, there's a holiday that Cas does not want to participate in. Unfortunately, neither he nor Dean has any choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I can't believe I wrote this much in less than a week! Holy shit. I need to make a calendar with big marks for holidays or something so this doesn't happen again. Kudos to Zirra for putting me on the right train of thought for this fic. A comment she made gave me an idea ;D

“Y'know, Cas, my favorite holiday is in like two days.”

 

Dean and Cas are at the grocery store, in the aisle heavy laden with smells of herbs and coffee. Despite the fact that the weather's warming up, Cas is still wearing an oversized sweater. Dean was at least able to talk him into a thinner one, but he's pretty sure he's going to have to stage a sweatervention soon.

 

Cas has two boxes of tea in his hands and has been looking back and forth between them for at least a minute, trying to choose one or the other. After another moment he finally just places them both in the cart.

 

“I am aware,” Cas says absently, pushing the cart onward to the coffee. He picks the brand Dean likes best without hesitating, drops it in the cart and moves on. In the back of Dean's head, he still can't get over the fact that in his whole life, he's never gotten groceries to last any longer than two days, tops. Ever since Cas, they go grocery shopping once every week and a half and stock their fridge, their shelves. It's kind of trippy.

 

“Well – I mean, shit, aren't you excited?” Dean's fully aware that his angel is an addict, shoots up holidays like they're heroin. A new holiday three weeks after the last one? Cas should be ecstatic, asking Dean if they make decorations for April Fool's Day or whether there are things he can bake for it. The fact that Cas hasn't even mentioned it is pretty weird. Dean assumed Cas just didn't know about it. Apparently not.

 

Cas does not reply and instead turns the corner of the aisle, going down the next. He grabs a box of Fruity Pebbles – Dean's favourite – and some Cheerios for himself. Dean clears his throat, fighting irritation. He's not a man who reacts well to being ignored. Cas frowns.

 

“I don't wish to celebrate this one, Dean,” Cas says evenly, studiously avoiding Dean's eyes as he apparently scans the shelves for something. Dean's eyebrows raise and his expression is nothing short of incredulous.

 

“Who are you and what have you done with Castiel?”

 

Cas looks up at Dean and tilts his head, furrowing his brow. “I am Castiel,” he says, and there is clearly honest concern in his tone. Dean groans.

 

“It's a figure of speech, I know you're – Jesus, Cas, this is a  _holiday_ we're talking about. And one of the only ones I actually know shit about. What's your deal?”

 

Cas finally meets Dean's eyes and sighs, looking suddenly quite weary. Dean's a little caught off guard by this, and he almost regrets his question. He's not sure why, exactly, though.

 

“This is one of the very few holidays we celebrated in heaven,” Cas says, hands gripping tight on the handle of the shopping cart, “My brother, Gabriel, invented it. I... do not like the idea of it in his absence.”

 

Sometimes Dean forgets that all the feathery, heavenly douchebags he's dealt with in the past two years were actually Castiel's family once. This includes Gabriel, the trickster who killed Dean perpetually hundreds of times... and the angel who gave up his life for Team Free Will. Dean swallows hard.

 

“I'm, uh, sorry, Cas. I didn't know.”

 

Cas seems to snap out of whatever memories were playing in his head when he hears Dean's words. He smiles a tiny, hesitant smile and puts an awkward hand on Dean's shoulder.

 

“It's okay. As it were, I was never fond of the holiday. Very few angels participated in the pranking and very many were the ones being pranked.”

 

“I take it you weren't one of the prankers.”

 

Cas shakes his head ruefully.

 

“Gabriel once got oil in my wings. It was there for a week.”

 

Dean chuckles. “Right. No April Fool's Day, then. Got it.” Dean seals the deal with a kiss, causing a woman passing by to clear her throat. Dean notes absently that she's their neighbor from down the street, and presses a hand to Cas' cheek just to exacerbate the woman's discomfort.

 

To be honest, Dean's a little bummed that he has to skip out on the one holiday he's good at, but Cas deals with more than his fair share of Dean's baggage – giving up April Fool's Day is the least Dean can do in return. Plus, he can still send Sam pranks in the mail. Sam and Sarah are on holiday in Canada, doing the whole stereotypical couple-in-love-thing and going to Niagara Falls. Dean will make sure a package without a return address is waiting for his little brother when he gets home.

 

*

 

“Don't be too hard on Cas with the pranks, Dean. Seriously. This holiday isn't all warm and fuzzy like the other ones. You might hurt his feelings.”

 

Dean's on the phone with Sam while he rummages through the fridge and pulls out the ingredients to make a sandwich. Cas is out... buying candles. Cas has a thing for candles like he has a thing for aprons and stupid oversized sweaters. Dean's not sure exactly how to tell Cas that with the sheer number of candles they have all over the house, any visitors they might have would probably assume they're having very romantic sex on a regular basis. Thankfully, they never have any visitors and Dean couldn't give less of a shit anyway.

 

“We're not doing April Fool's Day,” Dean says, slathering his bread with mayonnaise, “Cas is all depressed that the king of pranks, Gabriel, is all charred-wings-on-the-floor on the holiday he practically invented. So we're skipping out on this one.”

 

“Oh, Cas,” Sam says, and he can hear Sammy going into complete chick mode. Dean swears that if Cas gets a sympathy card in the mail or something, he's gonna punch his brother square on the jaw.

 

“Don't 'oh, Cas', Sammy. He's a badass, he's fine.” Dean doesn't like what Sam's tone indicates, like Cas is weak or something. Dean totally gets what it's like to lose a brother (though, thankfully, he got him back), so he's feeling sort of defensive. Angel mojo or not, Cas is still pretty awesome and kinda scary when he wants to be. He doesn't want Sam to get the wrong impression.

 

… Plus, Cas is always the one who opens the jar of jam when it gets stuck.

 

“I know, I know,” Sam rushes to clarify, “I just... I can't imagine what I'd do if I lost you, and I never thought about how Cas has lost so many of his brothers, and he can't – ”

 

Dean hears the front door close and the rustling of shopping bags, and he cuts the conversation short.

 

“Hate to cut in on your epiphany or whatever the hell it is you're doing over there, but Wings just got home and this just got awkward.”

 

“Wings?” Sam asks, and Dean scowls.

 

“Oh my god, Sam, it's not like a pet name, don't make it weird.” Dean growls. It's true; he's never actually called Cas that out  _loud_. It's sort of a mental nickname or something.

 

“Dean? I need your input before I place these candles,” Cas calls from the other room.

 

“Coming! One sec,” Dean chirps, and he can hear Sam laughing his ass off on the other end of the line.

 

“Whipped,” he snickers.

 

“Shut  _up_ , Sammy.”

 

“' _Coming!'_ ” Sam mimics in a voice way to high to be Dean's, “You sound like a housewife.”

 

“Dean?” Cas calls uncertainly from the other room.

 

“Hanging up now, Sam,” Dean says, and clicks the phone shut. He leaves his half-made sandwich on the counter in favor of going to the living room. It already smells awesome and he hasn't even lit any yet. Dean chooses to ignore the sheer  _number_  of candles Cas has come home with, raising his eyebrows but saying nothing.

 

“I'm afraid my enthusiasm lacked foresight,” Cas says sheepishly, “I'm not sure where to put them. Most of the surfaces are already covered.”

 

Dean can't help but laugh. “We'll put some of the old ones away first.”

 

Cas nods. “Agreed. And I don't think there are any in the bathroom yet.”

 

Dean's mind plummets to the gutter in about 3 seconds flat. He clears his throat, breaks eye contact with Cas and sets about plucking some of the older candles from their places on various shelves.

 

“That's  _weird,_  Cas,” he says, “no one does that.” The odd tone of his voice is not lost to Cas.

 

“I don't understand,” he says, tilting his head slightly.

 

Dean sighs. This is a phrase he hears very often. After a beat of silence, he decides to explain.

 

“People put candles and shit in their bathroom when they intend to have sex in there, Cas.”

 

Cas' eyes widen and his eyes quickly dart to all the candles in the room. Dean quickly clarifies.

 

“No – shit, Cas, it's fine to have them out here. Just not in the damn bathroom.”

 

Dean can see how tense Cas' shoulders have become, the unsure expression on his face. Dean softens his tone, crosses the distance between them to put a reassuring hand on Cas' arm.

 

“Seriously, Cas, it's fine. I like the candles.”

 

Cas smiles hesitantly.

 

“They smell good,” Cas says, as though weakly, unnecessarily defending them.

 

“They're awesome,” Dean agrees, and presses a kiss to Cas' forehead.

 

“Have you eaten?” Cas asks, abandoning the bag of candles on the couch and heading to the kitchen. He catches sight of Dean's half-made sandwich on the counter and finishes making it for Dean, who leans on the doorway and thinks about how friggin awesome his life has become.

 

*

 

Dean hasn't hunted a wendigo in years, and he's more than grateful to have backup this time around. They're ugly sons of bitches with even uglier attitudes, and he'd hate to have to gank it alone. It doesn't help that the campers they set out to rescue thought Dean and Cas were insane and took a stupid long amount of time to realize they weren't. They smell like the woods, sweat and fire by the time they're done. Dean groans at the idea of filling the Impala with their awful scent, but it's not like she isn't used to worse.

 

They drive for a while in silence, save for the gentle thrum of Kansas in the background, both bone tired and a little sleepy. Dean yawns and it's contagious, because a second later, Cas yawns too.

 

“I'm sorry, Dean,” Cas says eventually, looking out the window as trees and houses whiz by. Dean raises an eyebrow and lowers the music.

 

“For what?”

 

“For taking your holiday from you. It was... selfish.”

 

Dean laughs at this, clamps a hand on Cas' shoulder.

 

“Dude, it's not that serious. Promise,” he assures him.

 

“You're certain?”

 

Dean nods, adjusts the music til it's a little louder. “If it was, I would have said something. I don't really care about holidays unless you do.”

 

“Thank you, Dean.”

 

Dean moves his hand until it lays between them, and Cas laces their fingers together. His brains screams  _chick flick moment!_  but he ignores it. He likes Cas' hands and he likes them even better when they're in his. If that makes him a little sappy... well, it's not like anyone's around to see.

 

*

 

Dean's been sleeping in Cas' bed every night ever since St. Patrick's Day. There wasn't any official transition; it was just silently, mutually accepted that the first invitation to stay in bed was not  _just_  for that night. It beats the couch, for sure, which is where Dean had been sleeping before. They'd had a terrible argument about who sleeps where when they'd first moved in, but Dean, being the stubborn man that he is, won. The place is too small for two beds to fit comfortably.

 

They usually go to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, but Dean always wakes up with his limbs all tangled up with Cas'. He's not sure which one of them is the subconscious cuddler, but he really,  _really_  hopes it's not him. Cas has already made so much of a chick out of him that he's not sure if he can take the knowledge that he's the one who initiates the snuggling while they're sleeping. His manliness is tragically at risk.

 

The night before April Fool's Day, after they've crawled into bed and turned off the light, Cas wraps an arm around Dean's waist and pulls him close. Dean squints at him in the darkness, looking surprised. Cas is not given to indulging impulses. Cas presses his forehead against Dean's. Dean can't really see Cas' expression, but he's pretty sure he's smiling.

 

Dean waits for Cas to say something, but he doesn't. It's really weird and slightly unnerving. Several minutes pass, and Dean is suddenly aware that Cas has fallen asleep. He decides not to question it, and soon falls asleep himself.

 

*

 

When Dean wakes up, Cas is still clinging closely to him. He yawns and stretches, then looks around -

 

and gasps.

 

“Cas – what the hell?”

 

Cas makes a noise in protest, still half-asleep, but he complies and sits up as well. His eyes go wide as saucers as he takes in what has taken Dean so aback. He looks at Dean abruptly, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Dean, did you – ”

 

“Nice going, Cas! And you had me fooled with all this 'I don't wanna celebrate April Fool's Day' crap. Gotta give you points for creativity, man, but you're totally helping me clean this up.”

 

The room is covered in wrapping paper. Everything, every object, is wrapped tight like a Christmas present. Their couch, the couch cushions, hell, their  _coffee table_  – all are wrapped up. Every candle is blown out and wrapped and there are a friggin lot of them. The wrapping paper is covered in creepy looking jesters. The only thing not wrapped is the bed they sleep in.

 

“I didn't do this,” Cas says quietly, but Dean's already out of bed, smiling cheerfully at Cas' supposed holiday spirit.

 

Cas is clearly unnerved as he follows Dean to the kitchen, but Dean doesn't notice. He goes about making his coffee as Cas boils water for his tea.  His brow is furrowed, as though he is in deep thought.  He sits at the kitchen table and takes a deep sip of tea before clearing his throat abruptly and grimacing tremendously as he swallows.

 

“Dean,” he says warily, “Why are there soap flakes in my teabag?”

 

It's Dean's turn to look confused. He takes his cup of coffee to the table and sits opposite Cas. His look of confusion lasts for all of ten seconds, though, and then he grins.

 

“Dude, Cas, your sense of humor is seriously improving. I see what you're doing.” Dean takes a drink of his coffee and then coughs and spits it all over the table. Cas tilts his head, perplexed.

 

“Not cool, Cas,” Dean says. “You don't come between a man and his coffee.”

 

“I didn't,” Cas says flatly.

 

“Right, and my coffee just magically tastes like liquorice on its own, then?”

 

Cas frowns and takes hold of Dean's cup. He takes a tentative sip of it and makes a face. He stares down into the dark cup before placing it on the table. He looks up and makes direct eye contact with Dean.

 

“You're not doing this, are you?”

 

Dean does a double take. “No. And neither are you, are you?”

 

Cas needs no further confirmation; he stands from his chair immediately and grabs Dean's arm, tugging him upward as well. He leads Dean from the kitchen and pulls both Dean's jacket and his own trench coat from their coat rack.

 

“What the hell?” Dean protests, though he doesn't hesitate in putting on his jacket.

 

“Someone broke into our house last night, Dean. I'm not doing this and neither are you. This is a serious matter. Sam is in Canada and we have no immediate friends in the area. Can you think of even one person who might go to these extremes to prank us?”

 

Dean thinks for a moment, but finally shakes his head.

 

“I didn't think so,” Cas says, “neither can I. We can only assume that whoever – or whatever – it is that's doing this may wish us harm. Breaking and entering is nothing to be taken lightly.”

 

Dean nods, gets into hunter mode mentally. Cas is right; this reeks of the supernatural. The kind of meticulous wrapping shown in their living room in itself seems inhuman; it's all too perfect, too thorough. And then there's the question of how someone could get pass one seasoned hunter and one former-angel without waking either of them.

 

Dean heads for the Impala, but Cas shakes his head.

 

“They might have done something to it.”

 

Dean's look is instantly deadly, and he darts over to his baby like she's wounded. Cas frowns, but follows without hesitation. Dean circles the car, peers in the windows and checks the tires. He pops the hood, but everything within is also in check. He opens the door to the drivers seat and looks inside.

 

“What the  _fuck?_ ” he hisses.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Someone replaced her gas and break pedals with friggin banana peels.” Dean's fuming – the Impala is a no-fly zone; someone or something has crossed a serious line. “How do you even  _do_  that?”

 

“Let's get some breakfast, Dean. You work better when you're fed.” Cas puts a hand on Dean's shoulder and leads him away from the car. They walk down the street towards the nearest diner. Of course, their Republican neighbor is sitting outside on her porch. Her eyes narrow when she sees them.

 

“The sight of her makes me want to do obnoxiously gay things,” Dean comments. He seems to have calmed down a bit with the promise of food on the horizon.

 

“I agree,” Cas says. Cas shoots her a smile that's fake as hell, and Dean can't help but laugh. The woman does nothing but scowl, completely disregarding Cas' courtesy. Unable to contain himself, Dean stops them both and kisses Cas. Cas plays along, playfully nipping at Dean's lower lip in a way that is obvious enough that she can surely see it from where she sits. They consider it a success when the woman goes inside.

 

“I bet she moves out in two months, tops,” Dean says.

 

“Let's hope.”

 

*

 

They have a tried and true diner about five blocks from where they live, and it's come in handy on more than one occasion. It's not one of the greasy roadside ones Dean's gotten accustomed to in all his years on the road – it's a good, quality diner with mouth-watering food. Dean's said again and the again that the place should be five star. New Jersey's famous for its diners, and their section of Pennsylvania is just close enough to absorb a few of them.

 

By now the staff all know them by name, know their drink orders and can usually guess what they want to eat given the time of day. The waitress who greets them this morning is named Natalie. She's a tall, busty brunette with a million dollar smile and a bubbly personality that gets just about all of her customers smiling. About a year ago, Dean would have been all over that... but he's got Cas, now, and the thought only barely crossed his mind once. Natalie's completely enamored of Cas and Dean, always calls them the “world's cutest couple”, stuff like that. Dean pretends to be exasperated, but he usually can't fight the goofy smile her compliments bring about.

 

She looks tired when they walk in, but her expression brightens like the sun coming up when she catches sight of the two of them. She seems to catch herself, though, and quickly assumes a solemn face.

 

“I'm sorry, we're closed,” she says, obviously fighting the smile twitched at the edges of her lips.

 

“Uh huh. Is that so?” Dean say elbowing Cas and winking. Cas frowns.

 

“I don't understand. If the diner is closed, why are you here?”

 

“...  _Cas_ ,” Dean says, pressing a palm to his face.

 

“April Fool's!” she blurts out, giggling, “Oh, Castiel, you are too cute! And Dean, the way you... oh gosh, you guys. Cutest couple ever.” She shows them to their seats, handing them their menus.

 

“One black coffee and one tea with two creams and no sugar?” she asks right off the bat. Dean and Cas nod their assent. “Are you ready to order or do you want to – ”

 

“Yeah, I am. I'll take the double bacon cheeseburger, with – ”

 

“Ketchup, no mustard and extra pickles, gotcha. Castiel?”

 

“My usual salad, thank you.”

 

“Back in a few!” she chirps, bounding off. She returns with their drinks a few moments later and promises their food won't be long.

 

Dean sips his coffee pensively, staring into its murky blackness every time he places it down. Cas is staring out the window, brow furrowed the way it always is when he's deep in thought. Dean starts to say something when his phone rings. His ringtone is still the Dropkick Murpheys from St. Patrick's Day. He makes a mental note to change it. He checks the caller, flips open the phone and answers.

 

“Sammy?”

 

“Very funny, Dean,” his little brother hisses the voice on the other end. Dean's eyebrows raise and he shoots Cas a look, who quickly leans forward to listen.

 

“What's funny?”

 

“Right. Like you don't know why my hair is friggin  _purple_  right now, in Niagara Falls of all places. Jesus Christ, Dean, you need to grow up. I'm here with my fiancee -”

 

“Sammy – Sam. Shut up, dude, I didn't do it. Did you, y'know, think of asking said fiancee?”

 

“Of course I did. Like, all morning. She didn't do it, Dean. Which leaves the only other culprit being  _you_. You are such a dick.”

 

“... Is your hair seriously purple right now?”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Sam all but screeches. Dean bursts into laughter, picturing Sam's long and luscious locks tinged bright purple. He laughs til his sides hurt and tears are forming at his eyes. It takes him a moment to collect himself.

 

Sam clears his throat. “Are you done?”

 

“God, Sammy, what I'd give for that to have been my prank. But, uh, for being Mr. Logic you seem to have forgotten that you are literally in another country right now.”

 

“Yeah... well, I figured you might have...”

 

Dean rolls his eyes.

 

“You figured you'd call me up and I'd tell you some miraculous way I dyed your hair from miles and miles away because I'm arrogant as hell and would want to share my master plan, I'm guessing.”

 

Sam heaves a sigh. “Pretty much.”

 

“Hate to burst your bubble, but it wasn't me. Cas can testify.”

 

Sam is quiet a moment. When he speaks again, his voice sounds uncertain.

 

“Dean... if you didn't prank me, who did?”

 

Dean sucks in a breath, recognition dawning through him. “Whoever's been pranking me and Cas, I bet.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“We think it's something supernatural. We're treating it like a case, we'll figure it out. Keep your eyes peeled for headlines or people talking about the same kind of shit and call us if you hear anything. But don't, like, stress. We're all over this.” He flashes a small smile at Cas, who returns in. The waitress arrives with their food and catches their quiet smile exchange and seems to glow with pleasure. She walks away silently when she sees that Dean's on the phone.

 

“Alright...” Sam says hesitantly. “Call me if you need any help, okay?”

 

“Right, Mr. Canada, because you could totally help from there.” Dean doesn't need to see his brother to know that he's bitch-facing.

 

“Whatever. Keep me posted. See ya.

 

“Bye.”

 

Dean shuts the phone and frowns at it. He meets Cas' eyes and they exchange a concerned look.

 

“Well, it's all over the place, apparently,” Dean says unnecessarily as he draws his sandwich to his mouth. Cas is contemplative, quiet, apparently searching his mind for anything capable of this kind of widespread mayhem.

 

“We'll check the local newspapers when we're done eating,” Cas says decisively as Dean spits out his food and drops his sandwich.

 

“What the  _fuck_?” Dean exclaims for the second time today. Cas' concern is evident; he pulls Dean's plate away from him like the burger might jump up and bite him.

 

“Dean?”

 

“My goddamn pickles are made of plastic,” Dean says, glowering at the offending sandwich.

 

Cas absently sticks a fork in his salad – and is surprised the find that his fork won't get a grip on it; his tomatoes are plastic, too.

 

“Perhaps it wishes to starve us,” Cas says thoughtfully, as though analyzing something in a test tube and not some unseen force screwing with their lives. Dean places his forehead on the table.

 

“This is so not cool,” he groans. Cas' hand twitches on the table, hesitant, before brushing through Dean's hair. He seems to think better of it a second later because he moves his hand quickly. Dean holds it, though, resting their hands on the table and lacing their fingers together.

 

“I'm hungry,” Dean whines. Cas sighs. Dean's eyes are closed against the table, but he can hear Cas picking through his sandwich.

 

“You can eat it, Dean. Just take off the pickles. The rest seems to be real.”

 

Dean looks up. “How do you know?”

 

Cas picks up the burger and bites it before Dean can protest, swallows it and waits a second. He nods affirmatively.

 

“It's fine.”

 

“What the hell, Cas? What if it  _wasn't_? You don't have angel mojo anymore, you can't just do reckless shit like that.”

 

“Dean, it's fine. Nothing happened.”

 

Dean knows he's being irrationally angry, but for some reason this brazen act of potential food poisoning has really gotten under his skin. He glares at Cas, who tilts his head in confusion.

 

“What's wrong with you, man? Jesus.”

 

Cas' confusion slowly melts into a glare of his own. He sits back in his seat and looks out the window, scowling. Dean eats his burger only because he's hungry; he's almost too annoyed to finish it. Cas' salad lies untouched on his plate. It's not until Dean's halfway done that he realizes with a pang that Cas isn't eating because he doesn't want to piss Dean off by trying it.

 

Dean takes Cas' fork and pushes the tomatoes off the plate and then gets a big forkful of salad. He's never been a big salad fan, but this one tastes fine and about as good as a salad can taste. Certainly not poisoned or anything. Cas is still looking out the window, apparently ignorant of what Dean's doing.

 

“Uh – you can eat, Cas. It's fine, I checked it.”

 

“That was reckless,” Cas snaps. He looks away from the window and  _holy shit_ , Dean remembers again that the guy before him was once an Angel of the Lord. Between the sweaters, the baking and the festive aprons, sometimes Dean forgets what an insanely powerful, cosmic being his sort-of-boyfriend once was.

 

“Shit, Cas. Point taken. Eat, okay?”

 

Cas doesn't budge, and Dean realizes that this is an Apology Moment. He hates those.

 

“ 'm sorry, Cas,” he mutters. Most people probably wouldn't have even been able to hear him, let alone accept the half-assed apology, but Cas has always been gracious and patient with Dean. He doesn't acknowledge Dean's said anything, but he does start eating again. Dean takes this as a good sign.

 

“So,” Dean says after a while of extremely awkward silence, “what kind of monster has this kind of juice?”

 

“We can rule out anything without a sense of humor,” Cas says seriously. Dean laughs.

 

“I guess it's not you, then.”

 

Cas seems to think this over and then a small smile etches at his lips. Dean's irrationally proud that Cas got the joke. Dean touches Cas' foot with his own, affectionately, which apparently startles Cas. Dean grins and does it again, but then realizes the concept of  _footsies_  is probably lost to angels. Dean stops and rushes on before Cas can embarrass the hell out of him by asking what he's doing.

 

“I'm thinking fairies,” Dean says, and shudders. “Friggin hate fairies.”

 

Cas nods slowly. “That seems to be one of he only possible culprits. But why? It does seem like a great effort.”

 

Natalie comes and asks if they'd like dessert. Cas responds that no, they wouldn't, before Dean has a chance to protest. This diner has the best apple pie he's ever had (second only to his mom and Cas'). He knows Cas is right, though, knows there's no point in gambling with the possibility that something else will be messed with. Natalie gives them the bill and Dean sulks.

 

“I'll make you pie tonight, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean brightens a bit.

 

“Once we catch these son of a bitches and put them out of commission,” Dean says, putting his game face on. Cas nods reassuringly.

 

“We will gank those bitches,” Cas says, monotone as ever, and Dean laughs so hard he loses his breath and tears up.

 

“Don't ever change, Cas.”

 

*

 

Turns out that the news is unnervingly devoid of fairy activity – or anything out of the ordinary, for that matter. Newspapers, tv, internet... everything is clean. Dean, on the way to the convenience store to get aforesaid newspaper, manages to nearly fall into a manhole that he  _swears_  was concrete a second ago. Cas ends up soaked in water, inexplicably;  _he_  swears that it started raining abruptly, despite the fact that Dean and everyone around them are completely dry. By the time they get home, they're exhausted and irritable. The living room covered in wrapping paper only adds insult to injury, and they spend a few minutes unwrapping the couch. The rest will be done later, once their mutual irritation subsides.

 

“So maybe it's not fairies,” Dean concedes as he sinks into the couch. Behind him, Dean hears their drawers opening as Cas rummages through them to get dry clothes. Dean hears wet clothes hit the floor and he shudders. He knows Cas is only venturing to change in the same room as Cas because he knows that Dean's back is turned. Despite their St. Patrick's day hookup, Cas is still frustratingly modest. It seems alcohol influenced him far beyond the point of inhibition, because Cas is still awkward as hell when sober.

 

“We're back to square one, then,” Cas says, and Dean hears pants being tugged on. He sucks in a breath, realizing a little bitterly that all he managed to see of Cas that night was his bare chest. He's anxious to see the rest... but of course, like everything else in their sort-of-relationship, he has no idea where to start. So, like everything else, he just  _doesn't_.

 

“Maybe it's a cursed object?” Dean suggests. Cas comes to sit beside him on the couch, sinking into it and leaning slightly against Dean. Dean is immediately distracted at the sight of Cas in one of his t-shirts, a blue one that makes the color of his eyes pop. Cas notices Dean looking and looks away, plucking absently at a loose thread on the couch.

 

“We woke up with our house covered in wrapping paper,” Cas points out, “I don't see how we could have touched a cursed object in our sleep.”

 

Dean frowns, looks at Cas with intent at snapping at him because the guy is so goddamn perceptive that it's not fair... but again, the t-shirt distracts him. Instead, he puts a hand under Cas' chin and looks him in the eyes, a small smirk forming on his lips.

 

“Like it when you wear my clothes,” he murmurs, bringing his lips close the Cas'. Cas looks away, clears his throat.

 

“Focus, Dean. We need to figure this out.”

 

Dean groans and sits back against the couch, cursing himself for his ill-timing and cursing his angel for being so on-task. Rigidity of a soldier, Dean figures. It comes in handy sometimes, but not in this case.

 

“Well shit, Cas, I have no idea. A few years ago I would have said it was a trickster, but I know better now.”

 

Cas nods.

 

“I was thinking the same thing.”

 

Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder, snuggling close, and Dean's heart skips a beat the same way it always does when Cas invades his personal space. He thinks briefly of how far they've come so quickly, of Christmas and his anxiety over the butterflies in his chest. Now he accepts them graciously,  now that he knows that they're mutual. Now he can kiss Cas, if he wants to. He can kiss can  _whenever_  he wants to.

 

“Perhaps if we just stayed here all day,” Cas says abjectly, sighing softly, “didn't move, perhaps we could just... wait it out.”

 

“Wait it out?”

 

“I think it may only be an April Fool's Day thing. And it doesn't seem to be affecting anyone but us. So maybe if we just...” Cas gestures to the couch, and Dean gets the picture. It sounds like a good enough plan to him, so he wraps an arm around Cas and tugs him even closer, pulling him til he's sitting on Dean's lap. Cas makes a quiet noise of contentment and settles in, tucking his face under Dean's neck. The stubble on Cas' face feels prickly against Dean's skin. It's kind of weird, having this big badass former-angel snuggled up with him like a cat. Not that Dean's complaining.

 

“I am  _so_  okay with this,” Dean says contentedly, pressing a kiss to Cas' hair. He's debating whether he should go for his ear, whether he should press a kiss along the soft skin just behind it, maybe initiate something... but he falters. He know he promised Cas they'd –  _ahem_  – at some point, but he can't bring himself to do it. He sort of wishes Cas would initiate it, but he knows that his angel is far too ignorant of humanity and its intricacies to even have the slightest clue where to begin.

 

… But then again, neither does Dean.

 

Just as Dean's starting to feel himself nod off into the makings of what will probably be an awesome nap, a loud, explosive laugh echoes through their living room, its source unknown. Cas sits up immediately, one hand clutching protectively around Dean's bicep, hand gripping firmly around the hand print he left so long ago. Dean is reminded of once, when they trapped Raphael in a ring of holy fire, the wrathful archangel had made the windows explode in a shatter of glass. Cas' immediate reaction, knee-jerk and without a moment's contemplation, was to cover Dean with his body and yank him out of the way. Dean hadn't thought much of it then, but now, seeing that same instantaneous reaction to protect Dean, Dean's a little awed by it. The guy has zero angel mojo but is still acting like a guardian, Dean's guardian. It's... nice.

 

Despite the little surge of warmth this tiny gesture brought about, the more pressing matter is,  _hello_ , inexplicable and fucking creepy laughter resonating through their flat. Dean checks his breath, but there's no cloud of cold air; he sniffs around, but there's no scent of sulfur. That rules out ghosts and demons – so what the hell is this?

 

Castiel is tense, a statue, eyes darting around the room. Neither of them speak for quite some time, shaken in the silence following the startling laughter. Finally, Castiel speaks.

 

“... Gabriel?”

 

Dean gives Cas an incredulous look. He's pretty sure angels can't have ghosts. If they could, he, Cas, Sam, Bobby – they'd all be screwed by now. There are probably a million clever ways of killing them that wrathful angel spirits could come up with. Now, though, Dean's not so certain.

 

“Cas?” he whispers, but Cas doesn't seem to hear him. He's still looking around the room, desperately trying to find the owner of the phantom laughter. Another tense minute goes by, and then the sudden, unmistakable whoosh of wings announces the presence of an angel. A real, living, not-ghost angel.

 

“I was wondering when you two lovebirds would figure it out,” the angel says with a cocky smirk that goes ear to ear. It  _is_  Gabriel. Inexplicably, impossibly. For the first time today, Dean wonders if he's having some sort of really, really trippy dream. He's pretty sure if Cas wasn't sitting on his and gripping his arm, he'd have fallen out of his seat or something.

 

“What the hell?” Dean says at the same time Cas says, “ _Explain_.” Gabe's amusement only amplifies. He takes a seat next to Dean and Cas, getting all up in their personal space intentionally, just to bother Dean. Cas is looking at Gabriel like he's seen a ghost – which, yeah, makes sense.

 

“Sam brought me back,” Gabriel says simply, grin somehow widening even more at the matching looks of shock and confusion on Cas and Dean's face.

 

“Aren't you two just as cute as a button?” Gabe says, reaching up and pinching Cas' cheek. Cas makes a face and Dean has to concede that Cas really is  _that_  cute. But now's not the time to comment.

 

“What the hell do you mean?” Dean growls, just about fed up with Gabriel's characteristic evasiveness. “Better question – give me one reason I shouldn't gank your ass, because there is no reason you should be alive right now.”

 

Cas maintains his composure, but Dean notices a split-second of panic in his eyes that almost makes him regret the threat. Gabriel throws up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

 

“Jeesh, can't take a joke, can you? Fine, I'll explain. Basically, God's got a thing for you Winchesters – and you, Cas. For whatever reason, you're like his pets or something. He's brought you back more times than I can count, Cassie. Anyway, for whatever reason Senor Moose gets the idea of praying for me to come back. Something about Cas being an angstbucket about April Fool's Day. Jesus, Dean, your brother should write Hallmark cards. I think the exact words were ' _everyone deserves a big brother_ '. So sweet. Anyway, God seemed to deem it a fair enough request, so here I am.”

 

Castiel's eyes go wide and his mouth falls open slightly. Dean's still skeptical, but the story does seem plausible. Gabriel's right – Cas has been brought back from the dead more than once. Would it really be that impossible for Gabriel to come back, too?

 

“Father brought you back, for me?” Cas whispers. Dean's always liked the way Cas' voice sounds when he's whispering; the gravelly tone his voice mixed with the low volume gives Dean chills in the best sort of way.

 

…. Not the best thing to be experiencing while Gabriel's here, though.

 

“Yes, dumbass. Like it or not, the Big Guy loves you.”

 

Cas' face isn't too expressive – it never is – but his eyes say it all. If he was the hugging sort, he probably would have lunged himself at his big brother by now, given the intensity in his eyes. This doesn't redeem God in Dean's eyes, not by a long shot... but it's something. If, y'know, Gabriel's telling the truth.

 

“So you've been pranking us all day,” Dean says flatly.

 

“Wouldn't be April Fool's Day without that, would it?” Gabriel says, maintaining his cheesy grin.

 

“And Sam's purple hair?”

 

“Guilty. Though taking all his left shoes was my personal favorite. He's having a Black Rock moment. He's currently trying to find a rabbit foot in the hotel he's staying at.”

 

“Y'know, most people just  _call_  when they're in town.”

 

“That would have been so anticlimactic, Dean-o. By the way, do you guys have any candy?”

 

“We have – ” Cas starts, but Dean clamps a hand over his mouth.

 

“Fix all our shit and you can have our candy,” Dean says firmly. Gabriel rolls his eyes, muttering  _killjoy_  under his breath before he snaps his fingers. The wrapping paper disappears from every surface.

 

“We've got Reese's in the cupboard in the kitchen,” Dean says, and Gabriel saunters over to the kitchen. Dean and Cas exchange looks.

 

“It's him,” Cas says immediately, meeting Dean's eyes head-on, anticipating Dean's skeptiscm. Dean raises his eyes.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because... I just  _know_ , Dean. I know my brother.”

 

Dean can't really protest that, because he knows the feeling. He knows Sam inside and out, could spot an imposter from even the slightest detail. If there's anything Dean gets, it's weird brother connections.

 

“I didn't even know you two were close,” Dean says, voicing what he'd been thinking ever since Cas delivered the No-April-Fool's ultimatum. He'd refrained from asking before because he figured it'd be kind of rude, considering the guy was dead and all.

 

“I have...  _had_  many brothers. We functioned like an army, there was little room for the kind of camaraderie you're picturing. But... Gabriel was the only one who ever veered from what was expected. I think I always quietly admired him for it. I am one of the youngest of my brothers, so he liked to pick on me...”

 

“And somehow taunting translates into Brother of the Year?”

 

“Dean, you have to understand. Special attention is all but unheard of in the garrisons. Everyone is equal to the point that we are almost nonentities. To have another angel – an archangel, at that – acknowledge me personally, enough to harass me... he was easily my favorite.”

 

Dean nods, slowly understanding. Gabriel inadvertently made Cas feel special by messing with him all the time. In a place where feeling special doesn't really happen, it's easy to see why Cas looks up to Gabriel so much, why he grieved his death as he did. Dean smiles, running a hand through Cas' hair.

 

“Hmm, should I start taunting you, too?” he says playfully.

 

“You're already my favourite human, Dean,” Cas says seriously, not catching the humor in Dean's tone, “there's nothing you could do to earn it any more than you have.”

 

Dean's caught off guard by this brazen honesty. It's not uncharacteristic of Cas to say intense things casually, mostly because the guy has no concept of what's intense or not, but Dean's always stunned nevertheless. He gives an awkward laugh.

 

“Good to know.”

 

“Where's the rest?” Gabriel calls from the kitchen, indicating that he's gone through their store of candy.

 

“I – I could bake pie,” Cas calls back, sheepishly. He and Dean get up and walk to the kitchen, unwilling to leave Gabriel unattended in their kitchen for very long. Gabriel's smirk is back, directed at Cas.

 

“You  _bake_ ,” he says, obviously holding back raucous laughter.

 

Cas looks at the ground. “Yes.”

 

“My, how the mighty have fallen,” Gabriel says, but his tone is light and playful. “Dean, you've made my little brother into a housewife.”

 

“Hey, he makes damn good pie and his brownies are fucking awesome,” Dean says defensively, not liking the implications of what Gabriel's saying. Maybe it's the whole diving-into-hell-for-him thing, but Dean's always quick to defend Cas' BAMF status. The guy scares the shit out of him sometimes.

 

“Hey, whatever floats your boat. And I can't say I'm not gonna benefit from it. Brownies sound perfect, Cas.”

 

Cas nods and sets about getting out ingredients. His back is to Dean, but Dean can see through Cas' (subtle,  _subtle_ ) body language that he's exuding happiness. And while Gabriel's getting on his last nerve already, he can't help but love the guy for making his angel so happy.

 

“So are you banging my little brother?” Gabriel asks conversationally as Cas stirs ingredients. Dean blanches and Cas freezes mid-stir.

 

“Uh. No.”

 

Gabriel looks instantly indignant.

 

“Yeah? And why  _not_? He not good enough for you? Or are you getting it somewhere  _else_ , because let me tell you something, Winchester, if you think you can just -”

 

“Easy, firecracker! I'm not sleeping with anyone, okay? Christ.” Dean's bright red at this point, looking everywhere but at Gabriel. Cas starts stirring again, slowly, but Dean knows Cas is probably blushing crimson himself.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “If you're waiting for marriage, I gotta tell you, I-”

“We are so not having this conversation,” Dean cuts off, glowering something awful.

 

“Oh yes we are. Why aren't you fucking my brother, Dean? Are you having like a gay crisis or something?”

 

“Dude. No. I've always liked guys, too – Jesus Christ, I am so not having this conversation with you, get off it.”

 

Dean's wondering if he can escape to the bathroom to grab some Tylenol from the cabinet. His head is throbbing already and Gabriel's been here all of fifteen minutes.

 

“No wonder God sent me back,” Gabriel says, snickering, and Dean puts a palm to his face.

 

“Aspirin. I am getting aspirin.”

 

*

Gabe, Dean realizes, is surprisingly not that bad of a brother. The three of them are sitting in the living room, Gabe having positioned himself straight between Dean and Cas, just to piss Dean off. He asks Cas a lot of questions – how the apocalypse went down, if his sacrifice helped (and he looks relieved when Dean and Cas both vigorously say that it  _did_ ), and, most startling to Dean... whether or not Cas is happy. Cas seems to be glowing quietly in the presence of his obnoxious big brother. He doesn't hesitate when Gabe asks him this.

 

“Yes. I have never been this happy before, Gabriel.” Gabe's eyebrows shoot up, surprised. Both he and Dean know that this is no small thing to say; Cas is thousands of years old. That this is the happiest point in his life, even without wings and mojo, is quite a feat.

 

“Then I'm glad,” Gabriel says. His smile is sincere, very unlike the cocky smirks that Dean is used to. The kindness in it helps Dean understand, a little, why Cas loves him so much.

“Though if you think it's good now, just wait til you experience the wonders of  _sex_ ,” Gabe tags on, ruining whatever moment they might have been sharing. Cas clears his throat and Dean grabs a couch pillow and whacks Gabriel with it.

 

“Gross, man,” Dean says, “That is not the kind of shit you say to your little brother.”

 

“You were  _always_  trying to get Sam laid, Dean,” Gabe points out, “I'm just being a good brother.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Dean mutters, unable to think of something to counter that.

 

The doorbell rings unexpectedly, causing Dean to jump despite himself. He flashes a look at Cas, who shrugs subtly. Gabe smiles.

 

“You should get that, Cas.”

 

Cas stands and does so, casting an uncertain glance over his shoulder as he opens the door. Gabe leans over quick, lowering his voice so only Dean can hear him.

 

“Just so you know, Dean-o, I  _very strongly_ considered giving you a permanent boner for April Fool's Day. Just until you manned up and got on with it.”

 

Dean glares, facing going red with indignation and embarrassment at the very thought of it.

 

“I would punch you in the face so hard, I swear to God-”

 

“And I'm an angel, so it wouldn't matter. And I didn't do it, did I? Though the way you're talking, I might change my mind...”

 

Dean's eyes widen in panic and he holds back his hands in surrender. “Christ! Sorry. No perma-boner for me, got it? ...I'm gonna screw your brother at some point, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

 

“It's a start,” Gabe says, just as Cas comes back to sit down. He's holding a pizza and looking puzzled.

 

“We didn't order a pizza,” Cas says, frowning.

 

“I did,” Gabe says, flipping open the lid and helping himself to a slice.

Dean's pretty sure Gabe summoned up a pizza for the sole reason of getting to have his little chat alone with him, and he almost doesn't grab a slice on principle. Almost.

 

“So, what do you two do all day if you're not sleeping together?” Dean notices that Cas' face is strategically blank; he's been able to reign in the blush a lot better than Dean.

 

“We hunt monsters,” Cas says, breezing over Gabe's comment, “and volunteer at the community greenhouse a couple miles away, sometimes.”

 

Dean briefly considers smacking his angel in the head. Volunteer work is  _not_  something he likes other people know about, especially not someone like Gabe. He has his rep at stake, here, for crying out loud. Still, Cas is like a kid coming home from school, eager to share the picture he's drawn... Dean can't get too mad at him for wanting to show off his life, what he's made of humanity.

 

Dean just really, really wishes it wasn't Gabriel he was sharing it with.

 

“ _Dean Winchester_  has been planting things?” Gabe says, practically giddy. Cas nods.

 

“He's has a 'green thumb',” Cas says, quoting one of the gardeners. Gabe snickers.

 

“That's adorable.”

 

“What about you, Gabe?” Dean cuts in, tone harsher than intended, “how was the whole 'being dead' thing?”

 

Gabriel shrugs. “Dark. I think.”

 

“You think?”  
  


“Yeah, I wish I remembered the juicy details of whatever's behind the veil for angels, but I don't. Not that it matters, since neither of you are angels.”

 

Cas squirms at this, which makes Dean wish he hadn't brought it up. Outside, he sees the sun setting. He sighs, dreading the inevitable but willing to push forward.

 

“So, uh,” Dean says awkwardly, “Are you, y'know, crashing here?” He's more than a little afraid that Gabe's going to take up permanent residence with them or something, but thankfully Gabriel shakes his head.

 

“Nah, I'm not that much of a cockblock. I've got places to go, people to prank. The night is still young. Plus, there's a certain younger Winchester I'd like to thank for the whole resurrection thing.”

 

“Do you have any other pranks planned for him?” Dean asks, grinning despite himself.

 

“I think the moose I sent was prank enough. That and the fact that he still thinks he's hunting a renegade leprechaun. I'll be in touch.”

 

“... moose?” Dean asks, but there's a whoosh of wings and then Gabe's gone. The asshole made sure he turned off all the lights and lit the candles as he went, sending a clear message. Cas and Dean stand awkwardly, silently in the darkness for a minute before Dean clears his throat.

 

“Your brother is about as subtle as an elephant in a tutu, man,” Dean says, walking over and turning on the lights. Cas is still staring at the spot where Gabe had been standing, a fond smile etched at the edges of his lips. Dean's heart goes all light at the sight of it; he's still pretty damn in love with Cas' smile, even though he sees it much more often now.

 

“But, God...” Cas words trail off, but the rest of the sentences doesn't need to be spoken –  _doesn't exist_. Dean crosses the space between them, putting his arms around Cas' neck and looking into his eyes.

 

“Hey, does it matter? We don't even know for sure if it was God, dude. I mean, you came back a couple times and there was never a 'you're welcome' sticky note attached. Maybe... maybe good things just happen.” Dean is surprised by his own words, because they remind him of something Cas told him when they first met: _Good things_ do  _happen, Dean._

 

Cas nods, looking comforted by Dean's words. Dean can tell Cas isn't really ready to tackle his beliefs or disbeliefs on God, or ready to broach his bitterness and sense of abandonment. Right now it's best to focus on the inexplicable gift of getting his brother back and not think about the implications. If anyone knows about good, healthy repression, it's Dean.

 

“He sure is persistent, isn't he?” Cas asks fondly, looking at the candles. Dean nods, kisses Cas gently on the nose. Cas smiles and Dean smiles back, both of them looking smitten and, admittedly, cheesy as hell.

 

“Your brother may be a dick,” Dean says, “but – best April Fool's Day ever, huh?”

 

Cas nods.

 

“By far.”

 

“Next time I see him, I'm kicking him in the face for messing with the Impala,” Dean adds, gruffly. Cas laughs.

 

It's then that Dean remembers that Cas is still wearing his shirt and it still makes his eyes look impossibly bluer than usual. He clears his throat, tries to shake his thoughts, but as long as he's looking into Cas' eyes like this, he can't. One of his arms finds its way around Cas' waist, tugging him tight. Cas catches his breath, tilts his head and looks at Dean curiously.

 

“How 'bout I kiss you like I did on the speedline,” Dean says, voice low, and heated, “but without alcohol, this time?”

 

Cas responds by kissing Dean himself, mouth eager but endearingly hesitant. He's much more inhibited when sober, and somehow it's better this way – more like Cas, a comfortable sort of uncomfortable. Dean deepens the kiss, feeling Cas melt against him like butter. His hand strays to the hem of Cas' shirt as he debates what pace he should be taking this with. Just as he's deciding it couldn't hurt to slip his hand under the shirt, feel his angle shudder under his touch, there's a loud popping noise and then... a shower of confetti.

 

A piece of paper with writing on it floats down with the confetti, whose source is impossible to determine and therefore probably not human-made. Dean grabs it, scowling. Gabriel's messy handwriting is on it, two words that make Dean's blood boil and his face hot. The paper reads,   _Atta boy!_  With a little winking smiley face and all.

 

Dean and Cas stare at the mess and then at each other, both of them looking equally sheepish.

 

“Maybe we should...” Cas begins.

 

“... Watch a movie?” Dean offers.

 

Cas looks visibly relieved and Dean can't help but feel the same. His nerves are shot and his pulse is racing – two sensations that do not sit well together. They curl up on the couch with a blanket, legs entwined, some movie in that neither of them paid attention to while picking. The lights are off, save for the multitude of candles, and the atmosphere is quiet and nice. Dean thinks that if he leaned over and kissed Cas in  _just_  the right way, he could initiate something...

 

… but he doesn't. Instead, he lets Cas tug him close, chest to chest, buries his face into Cas' neck. The kisses he leaves along the skin there are innocent.

 

“Next year we will prank Gabriel,” Cas says with a yawn, carding a hand through Dean's hair.

 

“Hell yeah. Now  _that_  is gonna be the best April Fool's Day ever.”

 

 

 


	7. April Showers and a Little Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas wants to do Easter as dapper as possible - and with Cas in a brand new suit, Dean can't really complain. A little rain and a big fight can't throw off the warm and fuzzies of the holiday, and Dean starts to realize that his new life probably won't be falling apart any time soon.

Dean hasn't been this sexually frustrated since middle school.

 

He's sitting in a dressing room on the bench outside one of the changing stalls, mouth slightly agape. He's in Banana Republic, of all places, and the cause of his disoriented mental state and the heat in his lower stomach is his angel, clad in a suit and tie, looking sheepish and eager for feedback. His hair's all messed up from dragging his shirt over his head when he got changed, but he is otherwise orderly and put together. The combination of would-be sex hair and dapper attire has left Dean momentarily speechless.

 

“Perhaps a different colour tie?” Cas says uneasily, casting furtive glances at the full length mirror behind Dean. Cas' tie is a subdued, pastel pink. His suit isn't tuxedo-formal or anything, but it's still classy as hell. He's wearing a dark blue blazer over a tight black vest and a white button-up shirt, and the way he's biting his lower lip nervously at his reflection is borderline unbearable. Dean's silence seems to be perturbing him.

 

“Dean.”

 

Cas' voice, now irritated, snaps Dean out of his reverie.

 

“Don't change anything, you look fucking h... awesome,” Dean says enthusiastically, standing to his feet and striding over to Cas. He's never asked Cas how he feels about PDA, and they don't make a habit of it (unless they see their over-zealous Republican neighbor – she warrants impromptu near make out sessions on the spot), but Dean currently can't help himself from slipping an arm around Cas' waist and tugging him into a kiss. He's vaguely aware that a public men's dressing room probably isn't the right place for it, but he doesn't care. Still, he tries to keep the fire that he's feeling through his bloodstream out of the kiss. He still hasn't gotten past a drunken one-off hit to second base, and he has a feeling now isn't the best time to push forward.

 

… But  _damn_  if Cas doesn't look good in a suit.

 

“Even the pink?”

 

“ _Especially_  the pink. It's for Easter, man, you're supposed to be all pastel and shit.”

 

“Right,” Cas says, fussing with the tie. Dean bats his hands away and straightens the tie, which Cas has inadvertently pushed askew.

 

“Now take it off,” Dean says. When Cas gives him a peculiar look, he quickly rephrases, feeling his face burn red. “Er – so we can buy it. You have to... yeah. Change clothes.” He clears his throat awkwardly and looks away. Cas looks confused at Dean's strange behavior, but he doesn't comment. He goes back into the stall to change and Dean curses himself at the way his thoughts plummet when he hears Cas' zipper. He's pretty sure this is all Gabriel's fault, somehow, and he really wishes a good ol' stake in the heart would do the guy in. He totally deserves it.

 

“Now we'll find yours,” Cas says from the other side of the door.

 

“My what?” Dean asks distractedly, mentally focusing on things that are decidedly  _not_  Castiel in a suit. Like wendigos and homicidal grandma ghosts and headless vampires.

 

“Your suit, Dean,” Cas explains as he opens the door. He's not wearing a sweater, for once, and his frame looks significantly thinner without one. The weather is officially too warm for the cozy clothing Cas has gotten so used to. The angel had been quite unhappy when Dean insisted this morning that Cas change into something lighter because all that fuzzy fabric was making him warm just looking at it. Cas had settled on wearing one of Dean's lighter jackets.

 

Which, of course, made Dean feel all funny inside too. He's pretty sure he's in heat or something.

 

“I'll wear one of my Fed ones,” Dean says dismissively. The thought occurs to him that Easter's supposed to be all about Jesus or some shit, but he can't stop picturing his sort-of-boyfriend in high definition incredibly unholy imagery. Complete with soundtrack. 

 

“No. They are not 'pastel and shit',” Cas points out, quoting Dean's words in his characteristic monotone voice that makes it impossible for Dean to take him seriously when he curses.

 

Dean snorts. “Not really a pastel person, Cas.”

 

“But it's for Easter, Dean.” There's a certain undertone to Cas' voice that reminds Dean implicitly of Sam when he was little, asking for something he's afraid Dean won't be able to give him. Like money for a field trip when he knows they're broke, or to keep a kitten he knows their motel won't let them have. Like with Sam, Dean finds it very, very difficult to refuse this tone.

 

“Yeah, well. What would you have me wear?” Dean says, already caving. Cas smiles – and  _God_ , does Dean ever love that smile – and flags down one of the men who work in the store. The man is tall and has dark hair along with well manicured stubble. He's beautiful, stunning and is eyeing Cas like he's some sort of meal.

 

“How may I help you?” the man asks, and he's got a damn Italian accent on top of everything else. Dean's guard is up immediately, feeling his turf being invaded. Cas, blissfully unaware, gestures to Dean.

 

“He needs something to wear for Easter,” Cas explains, “I presume your advice will be better than mine.”

 

The man laughs, puts a hand on Cas' shoulder and smiles, all pristine white teeth and charm.

 

“I'm sure well find something suitable for your friend,” the man says – and that's about it, all Dean needs to step in and defend his territory. He puts an arm around Cas' waist possessively, tugging him subtly away from the man. The man raises his eyebrows in question.

 

“Yeah, my  _boyfriend_  can talk me into just about anything, even a suit. Can't you, Cas?”

 

Cas says nothing, only looks at Dean with wide, round eyes.

 

“I am your boyfriend?” Cas asks, and the man laughs again, flashing Dean a sympathetic look. Dean glowers, tightens his grip around Cas until Cas glances down at his hand, frowning subtly.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Your friend seems to have had some sort of misunderstanding,” the store clerk says, and Dean sort of wants to rip his lungs out.

 

“I'm not his  _friend_ ,” Dean spits, words like acid venom. Cas looks like he's been struck in the face and even the man looks startled. Dean's feeling about as defensive as it gets. The hand not clutching Cas is slowly balling into a fist as he pins the store worker with a glare usually reserved for demons and vampires.

 

“I don't understand,” Cas says, inching out of Dean's grasp. Dean looks away from his would-be rival to look at Cas, who he hadn't realized now appears distant and withdrawn.

 

“Should I go?” the store worker asks, Italian accent still so pretty Dean wants to cause him bodily harm at all costs.

 

“Hell yeah you should,” Dean says, and the man doesn't hesitate to go. Dean turns his full attention to Cas, who is thumbing through a rack of shirts distractedly.

 

“Cas?”

 

“You are not my friend, Dean?” Cas says evenly, eyes focused on each shirt as he looks through them. Dean suddenly gets it and his stomach drops. Cas misunderstood and Dean hurt his feelings. He almost curses under his breath, but catches himself – now is not the time to appear exasperated. It  _is_  frustrating sometimes, though, dealing with a once cosmic being who has the people skills and social knowledge of a five year old.

 

“Cas, you're more than my friend,” Dean says gently, easing into Cas' personal space until their shoulders are pressed together. Dean looks at Cas intently until Cas has no choice but to look up from the clothes rack and meet his eyes.

 

“First off, you're my  _best_ fucking friend and I love you almost as much as I love Sammy – which is saying something, seriously – but you're more than that. 'Friend' doesn't cut it.” Dean hates talking about his feelings, of course, and the fact that they're in Banana Republic just makes everything worse. What he's saying feels almost physically painful to vocalize.

 

“I see,” is all Cas says, and Dean is torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to strangle him. He's like, baring his soul over here and all Cas can say is ' _I see'_  ?

 

“I think I should start calling you my boyfriend, Cas,” Dean says decisively. Dean's never been sure, exactly, what to call their relationship. In his head, Cas is just 'my angel' or 'my sort-of-boyfriend-thing', but Dean figures now is as good a time as any to clearly define it. Since, y'know, he's already baring his soul and all.

 

“I would like that,” Cas says, and a genuine smile flickers to his lips. Dean's heart skips a beat – he'd sort of thought Cas would have no opinion on the matter, which would make Dean feel a little stupid for caring so much. It's nice that Cas appreciates the real life equivalent of changing a Facebook setting from 'It's Complicated' to 'In a Relationship' as much as Dean does.

 

“Good. Now no more talking to seductive Italian men, okay?”

 

“You were concerned he would... 'seduce' me?”

 

Dean snorts. “Hell no. Not with me around. Let's buy your stuff, Cas, we'll come back when Mr. Suave over there is off his shift.”

 

“No, Dean,” Cas says firmly, “That is ridiculous. Buy your clothes now and we won't have to come back.”

 

“ Cas – ”

 

“ _Dean._ ”

 

Cas' I-Am-an-Angel-of-the-Lord face is on in two seconds flat and Dean swallows his retorts. Cas is pretty friggin scary when he wants to be, and Dean knows when to pick his battles. Besides, this little shopping excursion counts as a  _holiday thing_ , and Dean's learned by now that Cas has final say in holiday things.

 

Dean gets a tan blazer that is decidedly more dapper than his fed suit, a darker tan vest and a pastel green bow tie that Cas says looks nice with his eyes. Dean can count on his fingers how many times he's worn a bow tie in his life (three), but the way Cas looks at him wearing one now makes him consider the pros and cons of wearing one every friggin day. He feels a little funny all dressed up like this when he's not working on a case, but he can't help but admit that his reflection in the mirror looks pretty damn nice.

 

Banana Republic bags look out of place in the back seat of the Impala, but Dean's taking it in stride. So much of his life has changed that the few shopping bags he sees in the rear view mirror are hardly worth a thought. For a brief, bizarre minute Dean pictures the back seat with something  _else_  entirely – something it hasn't had since Sam was very, very small. He shakes the thought from his head immediately, not even allowing his mind to form the word. He looks visibly unnerved the whole ride home, fists clenching the wheel. Cas looks at him curiously but doesn't ask; he knows Dean well enough to know when he needs his space, even if it doesn't seem to make any sense.

 

By the time they're home, Dean has thoroughly freaked himself out over how apple pie and domesticated his life has become. For whatever reason, all his internal warnings are kicking in, telling him that this not a life that Dean Winchester can have –  _deserves_  to have. He can't get rid of the stupid  _car seat_  from his mind, can't get the word out of his mouth where it itches to be spoken about. He's inexplicably angry, again, and all the while Cas is watching this unwarranted turmoil of emotion from surface level.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks after they've been sitting about a minute in the car, ignition still turned on. Dean seems to snap out of a sort of reverie and he turns off the car. He plasters on a smile, swallowing his anger, and chuckles.

 

“Spaced out a sec there. Need help with the bags?”

 

“I'm fine. What's wrong?”

 

There's a beat where Dean decides how to answer. A flurry of possible lies go through his mind before his mouth blurts out, more roughly than intended, “Put your shit in the house, we're going to Cape May.”

 

“Cape May... New Jersey? Two hours from here?” Cas asks dubiously.

 

“Yeah, I was looking through the news last night and they've got clear signs of vampire activity. Don't think there's any hunters in the area.”

 

Cas opens the door without further word, grabs their bags from the back seat and takes them out to the house. Dean sits back in his chair and rubs his temples with his forefingers, closing his eyes. Cas is back in a flash – Dean suspects he may have thrown the bags on the couch – and is buckling his seat belt before Dean knows it. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't mention the new recipe he'd been telling Dean about earlier, the one he was going to make for dinner. He doesn't say anything, just sits back and gives Dean a look that clearly tells him to drive.

 

*

 

It's dark and very late on their drive back, April rain dotting the windshield. The ride back feels even longer than the ride down did. It's spent in tense silence, broken only by the quiet patter of rain against the car. Dean's knuckles are white from how hard he's clutching the steering wheel, eyes fixed sternly on the road.

 

Cas' right forearm is bandaged from elbow to wrist, wound tight in white bandages. Dean's got several deep scratches on his face and arms, but nothing major. Both boys are covered in blood that is only half their own. Cas has been staring at Dean the majority of the ride. Cas' ability to stare is nothing new to Dean, not out of the ordinary in the least, but it's doing nothing to lighten his mood.

 

“You have a window for a reason, Cas,” he says finally, exasperated, when the staring has finally gotten to him. Which, admittedly, takes a while. It's strange how used to it he's gotten.

 

“You're brooding, Dean.”

 

Dean says nothing, just focuses on the long and empty road ahead of them.

 

“This is because I was injured.” It's not a question; it's a statement. Dean doesn't say anything for a while, just drives and drives while Cas stares.

 

“Well, shit, Cas, of course it is,” he snaps at last, meeting Cas' eyes for the first time since they got in the car. “I could have gotten you fucking killed.”

 

“We're hunters, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean winces. “Danger is generally expected.”

 

Dean thinks back to their battle with the vampire – which had turned out to be three vampires, once they got there – of the way Cas' face went distorted with pain when the vampire flung itself at him and sank its teeth in his flesh. Dean remembers the surge of adrenaline he felt, the store his body reserves for when people he loves are  _directly_  in threat of being killed (never, y'know, a minute or two ahead of time for God's sake). He'd been on the ground, then, halfway across the room, but he managed to scramble to his feet and stick a machete through the ugly son of a bitch's neck before he could do any lasting damage. Cas had returned the favor almost immediately, hacking off the head of the vampire who had snuck up behind Dean in his process of heroism. Dean had been pretty impressed at the time; Cas killed the thing left-handed because the pain throbbing through his right was too great.

 

Now, though, he can feel nothing but revulsion.

 

“Not for  _you_ , Cas,” Dean answers and Cas' eyebrows narrow, confusion slowly replaced with something else.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You're – shit, Cas. This?” Dean gestures to Cas' injury “This, right here? This should  _never happen_. You're – you  _were_ an angel, Cas, you could take those sons of bitches out with your pinky. But now –  ” Dean thinks back to the first day they met, when he'd wanted nothing more than to gank Cas like every other monster he'd ever met. He remembers sending bullets at him, lunging a knife into his chest. “Because of me, you're not an angel anymore. You can't heal yourself. You're mortal. I did this to you.”

 This is all my fucking -”

 

“Pull over.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Pull over,_ ” Cas growls, putting a hand on the steering wheel as if to demonstrate that he'll willingly do it himself. Dean obeys, too startled to really process what's going on. As soon as he puts the car in park, Cas is out of the car and rounding to Dean's side. He pulls open Dean's door and drags him out by the lapels of his jacket. He shoves him against the back door, glaring at him viciously.

 

“Don't ever let me hear you say that again,” Cas says, fire in his words so great it renders Dean speechless. He's in Dean's face, leaving no choice but to look him in the eyes. Cas is still remarkably strong, despite his relative slightness in physique. It's as though his muscle memory remembers that it once had incredible strength, and is clinging to that.

 

“You didn't  _do_  anything to me, Dean Winchester. Or do you think me to be some small child you coerced into sin? Impressionable and easily manipulated?  _I chose this, Dean_.” Cas gives the slightest shake of Dean's jacket in his fists, as if to reiterate the point. Out here in the dark and rain, the low growl of his voice sounds even more intimidating. “Thousands and thousands of years of rigid obedience. Do you really think I'd throw it away without thinking?”

 

Dean makes a small sound, tries to avoid Cas' eyes and fails.

 

“ _I love you, Dean_. A thousand injuries are nothing compared to the happiness I've found with you. So  _shut up_. This whining is pathetic.”

 

“Cas -”

 

“Now get in the car and drive us home.”

 

*

 

It's nearly midnight when they get back, and the rain has picked up to a much harder downpour. The porch light is on, though, making their flat look like a warm and inviting beacon.

Cas starts to get out of the car and notices that Dean isn't following.

 

“You go ahead, Cas, I'll be back in an hour or so.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Tough hunt, man. I need a drink. I won't be gone long, don't wait up-”

 

“No. Turn off the car. You're coming inside and watching Lilo and Stitch with me. I will make us hot chocolate and we'll finish the brownies in the fridge.”

 

“Cas-”

 

“And then you'll kiss me because you've irritated me very thoroughly today.”

 

“... Hm. That so?”

 

“Yes. You have to make me forgive you.”

 

Dean sighs, cracks his neck and turns the key in the ignition, turning it off. Then, swiftly, he leans over and kisses Cas, slipping a hand to his cheek. Cas reciprocates immediately and the kiss soon blurs into a series of kisses. Dean can feel Cas' pink, chapped lips grow puffy from all the attention and he smiles as their lips connect. Whatever doubts he may have had ease away. He feels childish.

 

“It's cold,” Cas says,  _just_  as Dean's thinking about going for tongue and maybe doing something about all his sexual frustration (which had been momentarily forgotten in all of today's manly angst). Dean successfully pushes down a groan of irritation before opening his door. He'd forgotten about the rain, which pours on his head adamantly as soon as he steps out of the car. He darts to the sidewalk and Cas takes off his trench coat quickly and puts it over both their heads. They make a run for the porch and, thanks to the coat, are only slightly waterlogged.

 

“Tomorrow we go shopping for Easter lawn decorations,” Cas mentions as Dean puts the key in the lock.

 

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes.

 

*

 

The following day breaks with bright blue skies and sunshine, leaving the damp sidewalks and wet grass as the only indication that there was ever rain at all. Dean wakes up curled up next to Cas, legs loosely tangled. Cas is already awake, propped up on an elbow and running his fingers absently through Dean's hair.

 

“Morning,” Dean mumbles, groggy.

 

“Good morning, Dean.”

 

“... c'mere,” Dean says and reaches out his arms. Cas accepts the embrace and cuddles in, his back pressed against Dean's chest. Dean nuzzles his nose into the back of Cas' neck and presses kisses there.

 

“'m sorry,” Dean murmurs into Cas' hair, “for being a dick all the time and whatever.”

 

Cas grabs Dean's hands and laces their fingers together.

 

“You wouldn't be you if you weren't. I forgive you.”

 

There's a peaceful quiet for a while. Dean revels in the way he can feel Cas' breathing through his chest, likes how soft Cas' fingers are. His  _boyfriend's_  fingers are. He likes that he can say that now.

 

“Do you forgive me enough to make me breakfast?” Dean asks after a bit. Cas chuckles.

 

“Yes – as long as you come with me today. I have a long list of things to buy.” Cas sits up, stretching for a moment before standing up. Only then does he notice that Cas is wearing boxers and one of Dean's t shirts. Dean clears his throat, looks away from the bit of Cas' back that is exposed when he stretches.

 

“Augh, fine. Just no more candles!”

 

Cas pauses mid-step on his way to the kitchen.

 

“But, Dean -”

 

“We  _just_  got new candles like four days ago.”

 

“They weren't  _Easter_  candles, Dean!”

 

Dean groans. He wasn't even aware Easter candles existed. He reminds himself that it's a  _holiday thing_  and that Cas has free reign here, so he just shrugs and clambers out of bed himself.

 

“Whatever you say, Martha Stewart.”

 

*

 

Dean is pretty sure that Cas could singlehandedly keep the Holiday Store in the mall in business, just by the sheer amount of time and money they spend there. After the first half hour they spend sniffing candles – they're Easter egg shaped and smell like cake and tulips and other festive things like that – Dean's just about had it with the store. He gives Cas a kiss on the forehead and tells him that he's going to lose his marbles and gank the nearest Easter bunny if he doesn't get out of the store soon. Cas nods understandingly and suggests that Dean walk the mall.

 

Dean returns an hour later to find Cas at the register, heavy-laden with bags. Dean rushes to his aid, grabbing the largest one. Dean has his own bag, which he adjusts so he can hold the new one as well He inspects the Cas' bag's contents as they walk out of the store.

 

“You seriously found light up lawn ornaments for  _Easter?_  Dude, I've never even heard of those. I thought that was a Christmas thing. And then after Valentine's Day I thought it was, y'know, a Christmas and Valentine's Day thing – they seriously make outside light up bunnies and Easter baskets?”

 

“Obviously,” Cas says, gesturing toward the bag. Dean rolls his eyes. Cas notices the other bag in Dean's hand and eyes it curiously.

 

“What is that?”

 

“Uh. Gift for you.” He puts the bigger bag down when they reach the car and fumbles through his pockets, busying himself with his keys to hide the inexplicable blush adding a pink tinge to his sandy freckles. 

 

Cas' expression doesn't change, but Dean notices the way his eyes light up. He decides that it's a good look on Cas, that sort of eager curiosity, and he's pleased he's the one that put it there.

 

“What else did you get?” Dean asks once they're in the car and on the road. Cas looks through the bags, taking inventory.

 

“The Easter egg candles, as you know. The store worker said they're very potent and the house will smell nice instantly. I have several Easter rabbits to put on the coffee table and bookshelf and kitchen counters and -”

 

“Basically every free surface in the house, I'm guessing.”

 

“Well. Yes. I got a new apron as well. It has rabbits on it.”

 

“I'm guessing you like bunnies, eh?”

 

“Yes. I think they may be my favorite animal. Aside from humans, that is. I bought us plastic Easter eggs and an egg dyeing kit. I've invited Bobby, Sheriff Mills, Sam and Sarah to Easter dinner and I'll devil the eggs after we've colored them. Why do people color them, anyway, Dean? I don't understand that part.”

 

“Dude, no one does. It makes absolutely no sense.”

 

 “I don't really understand anything about this holiday, considering it is said to be about the supposed resurrection of Jesus, yet is celebrated with bunnies and... eggs.”

 

“Beats me, man. But hey, it's colorful and there's a lot of gratuitous chocolate, so what the hell?”

 

Cas nods. “It's a foolish holiday, but I am fond of it anyway. I also bought tulips to plant in the front yard. I think that's it.”

 

They pull up to their flat and carry their bags in, setting them on the couch so Cas can take everything out and decide where it goes. No sooner do they set the Holiday Store bags down does Cas round on Dean and pluck the other bag from his hands. Dean just chuckles.

 

“Only compromise is that you're not allowed to wear it out of the house, okay?”

 

Inside the bag is a thin, white sweater, appropriate for the newly warm Spring weather. The novelty of it is that it has a hood, and on the hood is a pair of floppy fabric bunny ears. Cas pulls it on at once, putting the hood up and letting the ears flop over his face. He looks absolutely ridiculous and equally adorable, and Dean can't fight the grin that etches its way onto his face.

 

“I'm wearing this everywhere, Dean,” Cas says seriously, giving one of the ears a tentative tug.

 

“No way, man. You look like a nerd.”

 

“You've always called me a nerd,” Cas points out. “ 'Nerd angel',” he quotes, air quotes and all.

 

“Touche. You're gonna kill my rep with that, though. My boyfriend the Easter bunny. I'll lose all my street cred.”

 

“Street cred?” Cas muses, crossing the distance between them and putting a hand on Dean's waist. “Overrated.” He kisses Dean, a soft little thing that reminds Dean somewhat of a rabbit, for whatever reason. Dean wraps both arms around Cas' waist and kisses him back.

 

“Maybe,” Dean says, “I've got something better, anyway.”

 

“Hm, really? And what's that?”

 

“You.”

 

*

 

Cas is all dirty and Dean loves it.

 

It's the day before Easter and they're outside in the front yard, both kneeling in the flower bed outside the porch of their flat, bearing spades and covered in dirt. Turns out that the earth in the tiny flower bed was hard and inhospitable to incoming plants, so Dean and Cas had to dig up quite a lot of it in order to soften the ground. They figured adding water would help their cause, but today is the first time they've used the hose that came with the flat and they weren't aware that the water pressure was so intense. They ended up with a veritable ocean of mud. Cas got the worst of it; he made the mistake of staying in the flower bed when Dean turned on the hose, not anticipating the intensity of water flow, and was splattered with mud. Dean's only dirty because Cas threw some at him in protest.

 

There's mud on the tulips, too, and the whole flower bed looks like an awful mess. Dean's having a little trouble caring, though; Cas is wearing a tight white tank top and a pair of old jeans and Dean has lost the ability to think clearly. Cas' palms are black with dirt and there's smears of mud on his face. All in all, Cas as a gardener is sexy as fuck and Dean was not prepared for their little Easter activity to leave him – yet again – painfully sexually frustrated.

 

Cas sits back on his heels and observes their handiwork. “They're about as appealing as our Christmas tree was,” he remarks, attempting to swipe some dirt from one of the flower petals and only further smudging it.

 

“It's got Winchester appeal. A little rough around the edges but there's some charm there.”

 

“Perhaps. If nothing else, it brings color to the flat.”

 

“... Cas. Our front lawn is lit up every night with glowing bunny lights. Don't think we're lacking for color here, man.”

 

“ _Natural_  color, Dean.”

 

“You're such a girl, dude. I need to keep you away from Sam.”

 

Cas scowls. Dean notes that Cas is kinda hot when he does that, too, and he mentally adds 'angry sex' to the steadily building list of fantasies he has regarding Cas. His eyes dart to Cas' lips, bright pink and chapped as ever. Cas notices.

 

“What are you thinking about, Dean?”

 

Dean clears his throat and swallows hard.

 

“Uh – church,” Dean evades quickly, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you making us go to church Sunday? For Easter mass or whatever? Cause I hate to break it to you man, but they're not the most gay-friendly places in the world, especially around here.”

 

Cas shakes his head.

 

“We're going to church – ” Dean groans at this “– but not to a Christian service. I don't want to spend my holiday amongst people who would make us uncomfortable, but I  _do_  want to do everything that the holiday includes.”

 

“But  _Cas_  -”

 

“Holidays are my domain, Dean. This is my first year immersed in humanity. Let me explore it. We're going to church.”

 

“Whatever you say, Cas,” Dean grumbles.

 

They end up laying in the grass of their front yard, staring at the blue sky overhead. The whole world smells of Spring and rebirth; the grass has a fresh scent to it that makes everything feel brand new. Dean takes Cas' hand as he searches for pictures in the clouds.

 

“I know that's not what you were thinking about, by the way,” Cas says offhand after several minutes in quiet tranquility. Dean blanches.

 

“Er, what are you talking about?”

 

“You know, Dean. And I'm still interested. I think about it, too.”

 

Cas gets up, then, and walks into the house. Dean lays there a while longer, brain going over and over Cas' statement, psychoanalyzing it.  _I think about it, too_. He closes his eyes and thinks about the implications of that. A shiver runs down his spine.

 

He really, really needs to get on that.

 

*

Cas falls asleep in a pair of boxers and his bunny sweater, hood up and ears draped across his face. He's the picture of innocence in sleep, and Dean wonders at how this man can be at once the scariest and cutest thing he's ever met. He lays in bed til he's sure Cas is asleep and then sneaks off to the kitchen to put Cas' Easter basket together. He fills it with all the essentials – chocolate bunnies, caramel filled Easter eggs and Peeps. He hasn't had a proper Easter since before his mom died, but he's pretty sure he's covered all the basics.

 

He shuts off the kitchen light and takes another peek at his angel. He can see him faintly in the light of the three candles he's left burning for Dean before he goes to sleep. He chuckles at the sight of the bunny ears. Figures Cas would like such a dorky thing, figures his favorite animal would be a rabbit.

 

With that thought, an idea strikes him. He grabs his coat and his keys and slips out the door, casting one last fond smile at Cas before he leaves.

 

*

 

Dean wakes up to a kiss on his temple. He smiles, eyes flickering open to the sight of Cas, all bright-eyed and extra happy like he always is on holidays.

 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, “Happy Easter.”

 

Dean responds first with a kiss to Cas' mouth.

 

“Morning, Sunshine,” he says, “Right back at you.” Then, Dean hears a quiet rustling sound from the far end of the room. He panics quietly and looks at Cas – Cas has heard it, too.

 

“Did you hear -”

 

“I don't know about you, but I'm dying to try that Easter tea you got. I don't even know how you managed to  _find_  Easter tea.”

 

“Internet,” Cas responds with a shrug. He peers in the direction the sound came from, but Dean distracts him with another kiss.

 

“C'mon, get up,” Dean says, nudging Cas' thigh gently with his knee. Cas stretches and does so, helping Dean up directly after. The two trudge sleepily to the kitchen and Cas puts water to boil. Dean sits back in his chair and watches Cas pull out things to make breakfast. Soon there's a host of ingredients on the table – milk, eggs, sugar, vanilla extract, pumpkin pie spice and apple butter. Dean raises an eyebrow.

 

“Dude, what's with all the stuff? You're making Easter dinner tonight for like five people, don't wear yourself over breakfast.”

 

“I don't intend to. That's why I picked something simple.”

 

Dean looks at the counter skeptically. “With that many ingredients?”

 

“It's not as hard as it looks. I'm making apple butter french toast.”

 

Cas isn't kidding; breakfast takes all of 15 minutes to make and looks phenomenal. By now the tea is finished steeping and Cas serves them both, coming to sit beside Dean. Their table is big enough that Cas could sit opposite Dean, but he never does. Their lack of personal space thing dates back way before they were dating – though the word  _dating_  feels strangely inaccurate to Dean – and it doesn't seem to make much sense to quit it now. Their elbows bump affably every now and then as they eat.

 

Dean makes a face of pure delight as he puts the first forkful of french toast into his mouth. It's by far better than any french toast Dean's ever had, and he groans blissfully as he swallows. Cas gets a peculiar look on his face at that, but Dean's too busy enjoying his food to analyze it. The tea is amazing, too. It's called 'Thé de Pâques'; it's spicy and citrusy and fruity at the same time, black and sweet enough to be drunk without cream or sugar. He closes his eyes a moment, savoring it as he drinks. He's gotten over thinking that tea is for pansies. Tea is  _awesome_.

 

“God, I love you,” Dean says as he finishes his food. Cas gives a small, contented smile.

 

“I love you, as well. And I have something for you.”

 

“Yeah? I've got something for you, too,” Dean says, unable to fight a grin. Cas looks surprised, like he wasn't expecting Dean to play along with the Easter thing, and Dean hopes the time comes when Cas stops being surprised when good things happen. He's excited, though, knowing his present might earn him a full smile from Cas.

 

Cas grabs his Easter basket for Dean from one of the kitchen cabinets, and Dean brandishes his basket for Cas from the hallways closet. They sit on the couch and exchange them, both wearing matching smiles as they look through their candy. Dean's has a piece of apple pie wrapped in pastel cellophane that can tell from sight is homemade (he wonders idly when Cas managed to make it without Dean knowing). Cas looks quietly pleased as he tears open the box of Peeps. He pops one into his mouth and his face goes all soft and happy at the taste.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says sincerely, making firm eye contact with Dean.

 

“Not yet. I've got one more present for you.” As if on cue, the same rustling from earlier sounds again. Cas looks at Dean curiously as he gets off the couch and grabs something big and rectangular and covered with a pastel green blanket and a little blue ribbon. There's a loud skittering sound from within it as he drags it over to the couch.

 

“Happy Easter,” he says, and Cas pulls the blanket from the object.

 

The object is a small cage, and within it is a rabbit. It's small with overlarge ears and bright blue eyes. Dean hadn't needed even a moment to pick her out – her black fur and blue eyes reminded him instantly of Cas. The pet store owner, who had thankfully been working overtime last night, had assured Dean that this particular breed is extremely affectionate, not the sort to shy away from human interaction. As if to prove this, the bunny stands up on her hind legs and presses his feet against the side of the cage, twitching her nose at Cas.

 

“Dean,” Cas says quietly after staring at the rabbit for several moments, “Dean, thank you,” he whispers. Before Dean can answer, Cas grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, pulling Dean's lower lip between his own. Dean makes a little sound like a sigh and a whimper and kisses back, wrapping an arm around Cas' waist and tugging him closer. Dean inhales deeply and swallows his fears, surging forward with tongue and getting instant reciprocation. He tugs Cas even closer, effectively dragging him onto his lap, when a loud clock alarm goes off across the room. Startled, he breaks the kiss and glares at the clock.

 

“Why do we have an alarm clock set?” Dean asks breathlessly, jaw clenching. Cas looks sheepish.

 

“To remind us to get ready for church.” Dean scowls. Cockblocked by  _church_. It's fitting, he supposes, but right now all he wants to do is get in Cas' pants before he loses the nerve.

 

“Do we have to go?” Dean half-whines, pressing kisses against Cas neck. Cas makes a noise like a gasp that sends chills down Dean's spine, but, to Dean's dismay, nods.

 

“It's Easter, Dean,” Cas says, like this explains why church is better than whatever they were about to engage in. Cas disentangles himself from Dean, crawling off his lap and sitting back against the couch. He heaves a sigh and then gives Dean a tiny smile.

 

“Besides, I'd like to see you in your suit again,” he adds, and if he were anyone but Cas, Dean would swear the statement was laced with innuendo.

 

*

 

“Sam is going to Easter mass with Sarah and will join us after. Bobby, of course, could not be coerced to join either of us.”

 

“Why can't Sam just go to mass with us?”

 

They're pulling up to a church in the Impala, Kansas playing through the car speakers as Cas fiddles with his tie. The church is small but beautiful, featuring a large circular stained-glass window at its top, surrounded by several smaller windows. It has the effect of looking like a sun. Dean's not impressed, though; he finds that pretty churches tend to be dull and traditional. Not that he's had very much experience with churches, really. He can't remember the last time he visited one voluntarily or without needed something holy for a hunt. He  _does_  remember that one smokin hot priest in Tampa, but that's neither here nor there (though, for the record, chastity vows suck).

 

Dean's picturing Cas in a priest outfit and weighing whether or not this is attractive when Cas nudges him, pointing out that the car is parked and they've been idling for a minute. Dean shakes himself from his lewd thoughts, reminding himself he's about to enter a church.

 

“You're sure the whole dude slash dude couple thing isn't gonna make anyone stare? Because I don't think I can stand like two hours of bitchy staring.”

 

“It's only an hour, Dean. And no, I promise that no one will stare.”

 

“As long as I don't kiss you,” Dean grumbles as they walk through the precipice. Cas sighs, rolls his eyes and kisses Dean full on the lips to prove his point. No one mingling in the lobby outside the sanctuary even flinches. They get quite a few hearty welcomes but are otherwise left in peace. Dean wishes he could remember what kind of church Cas said this one is. He can't spot any crosses or crucifixes, so he's starting to think it might not have any Christian affiliations. A non-church-church doesn't make sense, though, so Dean stops trying to figure it out.

 

At eleven, people start filing into the sanctuary and Dean and Cas follow. Dean instinctively leads them to a pew in the very back. He debates whether or not  Cas would be offended if Dean took this opportunity to nap. He reminds himself that it's only an hour and that the whole Easter shebang is really important to Cas and resolves to at least  _try_  to keep his eyes open. Dean notes that, while many people are all dressed up like he and Cas are, many people are in jeans and t-shirts and even sweats. He's never seen such a laid-back church, and he appreciates that Cas went out of his way to find a place where they'd be comfortable.

 

The pastor is startlingly young and is sporting a bow tie, like Dean. He's got a lively nature to him, a brazen humor that puts Dean at ease almost instantly. He starts out with jokes, even wishes his congregation a happy “zombie Jesus day”. Cas is listening intently, leaning slightly into Dean, and Dean starts to think maybe the whole Easter Sunday thing isn't so bad after all.

 

The sermon is not about the Bible, though it mentions it occasionally. Instead, the pastor's focus is on new life and freedom – looking to the future. He talks about the renewing, refreshing feelings that Spring brings and the relevant symbolism in the resurrection of Christ. He also talks about Buddha and cites quotes from other religions, bringing them into the common theme of moving forward and reveling in the perpetual newness of life. Dean absorbs it all. He thinks about Cas, thinks about how different their lives have become since they ended the apocalypse and accidentally fell in love. He thinks about his apprehensions, too, about his fear that this new life of theirs will fall apart and that he doesn't deserve this happiness. He wants to let all that go. He wants to look toward the future, his future – one he wants to spend with Cas. He resolves to try harder to do that.

 

Church lets out exactly an hour after it began. Many people thank Dean and Cas for coming, beckon them to come again. Much as Dean liked the service, he knows he has no plans of visiting on a regular basis. Church just isn't his scene, though he thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Cas is wearing an expression that Dean has come to know as being pleased. Cas is never terribly emotive – even when he's happy, he doesn't smile wide very often, but Dean's learned the intricacies of the other man's emotions. He kinda likes knowing that he can do that, knowing that he can read Cas like a book just from a certain light in his eye or the way his lips twitch at the edges. He knows all the subtleties and nuances of Cas in a way he's never been able to with anyone but Sam. It's... nice.

 

The two of them go home and Cas immediately heads for the kitchen, plucking hard-boiled eggs from the fridge. Dean takes the hint and pulls the egg-dyeing kit from one of the kitchen drawers. He grabs a few plastic cups and fills them with water for the eggs. He hasn't done this since Sam was a kid, and even then they only dyed eggs a handful of years. Like with every holiday so far (sans St. Patrick's Day, since he's never celebrated it before this year), Dean's feeling like he's getting a tiny bit of his childhood back. He feels childish and a little dumb, but Cas' enthusiasm makes up for it.

 

Cas ducks out of the kitchen for a second and comes back with his rabbit on his shoulder. Dean opens his mouth to protest that the bunny might fall or something, but the sight of the rabbit and Cas together with their matching blue eyes and dark hair makes him grin and he knows it's not worth the pout he'd get.

 

“You got a name for him yet?”

 

“I think so. I think I may name him Sunshine.”

 

“Yeah? Why's that?”

 

“You called me that this morning,” Cas says, dropping the color tablets into the cups of water and adding vinegar, “I thought it was endearing.”

 

Dean gets over the initial embarrassment and snorts. “What if I wanna call you that again? It'll be weird if the bunny's got the same name.”

 

“I'll know the difference,” Cas says simply, and drops the first egg into the water. He reaches for the little scooping wire the kit provides right off the bat, and makes a face at the egg when he plucks it out.

 

“Cas, you have to  _wait_  first. It's not going to dye right away.”

 

“Oh.” With a splash, Cas drops the egg back into the water and adds eggs to the rest of the cups. He sits on the edge of the counter and looks at Dean.

 

“I like Easter,” Cas remarks. Dean walks over and ruffles Cas' hair.

 

“Yeah? Well, I like  _you_.”

 

Cas looks puzzled. “I should hope so.” Dean groans and rolls his eyes.

 

“I was being cheesy, Cas, Christ. You really are a moment ruiner, you know that?”

 

“How did I-”

 

“Check your eggs, dude.”

 

Cas does so. The eggs are all bright pastels and Cas looks visibly happy at the sight. Dean's happy, too; he's not sure what's so damn charming about colored eggs, but he likes the sight. Cas is practically and Easter post card with his pink tie, bunny on is shoulder and egg in hand. Dean almost wants to take a picture.

 

They make about twelve more before Dean tells Cas he's going overboard. Dean demonstrates how he and Sam used to mix the colors and get all sorts of new colors and shades. Cas especially likes the vibrant green they get when they mix the green, blue and yellow. For the last egg, they mix all the colors together and get a weirdish, black or dark purple color that's decidedly more unattractive than the rest.

 

“Let em dry, we're going to need them in like 10 minutes,” Dean says.

 

“What for? I don't need them until Easter dinner tonight.”

 

“You'll see.”

 

*

 

Dean found this place by accident. He'd been driving home from the grocery store about three weeks ago, bag of flour for Cas' most recent recipe in tow, when he'd caught sight of something darting behind an abandoned building. He thought he saw its eyes flash – he wasn't sure, but his hunter senses were tingling, so to speak – so he pulled over and decided to check it out. He went through the tall, creaky wooden gate and through tall weeds to the yard behind the building. What he found was anything but frightening.

 

The building had been uninhabited for years, yet behind it was a beautiful  _garden_. It was a little overrun, but was obviously cared for on a regular basis. Dean was instantly reminded of something, though it took him a moment to place it. All at once he realized that the place seemed almost  _exactly_  out of the Secret Garden, that girly kid's movie Sam had been so obsessed with when he was 13. It was surrounded on all sides by a tall wooden fence that hid it from view of anyone who might pass by. It was nothing short of breathtaking, particularly for the sheer serendipity of it.

 

Dean caught sight of what he'd thought was something supernatural; it turned out to be a human, nothing more. The man reminded him remarkably of Joshua, heaven's gardener. He had that same sort of tranquil look to him, and Dean wondered how he managed to confuse him with something threatening.

 

“Some garden you got here,” Dean had said, for lack of anything better to say.

 

“You're free to come whenever you like,” the man had replied quietly, “She deserves some attention. Lately, I'm the only one who ever sees the beauty here. There are flower blossoms everywhere now that it's Spring.” He absently snipped at an overgrown twig and smiled at Dean.

 

“Uh, thanks,” had been Dean's intelligent response. He'd left almost immediately after, feeling slightly  perturbed and a little awed at his discovery. Only recently did Dean remember it.

 

Now, he pulls up to the familiar building with Cas beside him, still clad in his Sunday best. He's holding two baskets – one is full of the eggs they dyed and the other is full of the plastic sort that pop open to hide surprises inside. He eyes the building warily when they pull up, then looks around at the surrounding buildings as though wondering if he's missed the reason for their current parking lot. Dean's amused by Cas' confusion.

 

“Come on,” Dean beckons as he gets out of the car and walks towards the gate. Cas follows behind, brow furrowed, clutching at both baskets.

 

Cas is more than a little amazed when Dean opens the gate. The garden is in even better shape than it was before; the gardener seems to have put in some extra time since Dean last saw the place. Dean now wishes he'd asked more questions – why is this place here if the building is abandoned? Why keep up with it? Whether he knows or not, though, he's grateful. The look of wonder on Cas' face is priceless.

 

“We're gonna have an Easter egg hunt here,” Dean says. “I figured it'd be less crowded than the public park.”

 

Cas looks down at the baskets in his hands. “What are the plastic eggs for?”

 

“You're gonna hide the dyed eggs and I have to find them, and I'm gonna hide the plastic eggs and you have to find them. We'll have like, a contest. Whoever finds them all first gets a massage when we get home. Sound good?”

 

Cas nods.

 

“This is such a frivolous holiday.”

 

“No shit, Cas. We're two grown men in a vacant lot playing hide and seek with pastel eggs. None of this makes any sense.”

 

“Perhaps that's why I like it.”

 

Dean shrugs. “Figures. Who hides their eggs first?”

 

“You may.”

 

Cas waits outside the gate while Dean picks expert hiding places for his eggs. In trees, in high grass, between flower petals... Dean tries to be as thorough as possible. He wants this to be fun for Cas, wants him to get a kick out of his first Easter egg hunt like every little kid in the world who's doing the same thing right now. They've got fifteen eggs each and it takes Dean a while to find all the best hiding spots, but he hears Cas clear his throat loudly from the other side of the fence and he figures his time is out. He opens the door, jerking his thumb in the direction of the garden.

 

“Your turn – and no looking while you're hiding yours, that's cheating.”

 

“Understood. I'll call you in shortly.”

 

Dean leans against the fence and waits, eyes up on the clouds. He  _swears_  he sees a cloud shaped like a bunny and is just about to do a double take when Cas beckons him in.

 

Dean does a quick scope of the area, but he can't spot any eggs right off the bat. What he  _can_  see is that Cas is trying to conceal something in his hand. Something bright pink and round.

 

“Cas! You cheater!”

 

Cas flushes red and looks at the floor.

 

“I – I wanted to see what was inside.”

 

Suddenly, it's Dean's turn to flush red.

 

“Did you, uh – Did you open it, or...?”

 

“Not yet. Shall we start the game with a count of three?”

 

“Sounds good. One, two... three.”

 

They split up and go to opposite sides of the garden, Cas taking the far side and Dean at the side closer to the gate. Dean's got an Easter basket in hand and feels absolutely ridiculous, but he can't help but feel a little childish pride when he manages to spot an egg tangled in some ivy along the fence. The competitor in him wonders if Cas has found any yet – and, more importantly, if he's opened any. He looks across the garden and sees Cas standing still, staring at something in his hands. Dean can only assume Cas has opened one and is looking at its contents. Dean studiously looks elsewhere.

 

Twenty minutes later, Dean has found fourteen eggs. He has no idea how many Cas has; whereas Dean shouts “Found one!” every time he locates an egg, Cas is quiet the whole time. Dean's going a little crazy trying to find this last egg, having searched the garden over and over at least five times. Cas, however, seems to be taking his time.

 

“How many do you have, Cas?” Dean asks after a while of futile searching.

 

“Eleven.”

 

“I totally have you beat, man. I just can't find that damn last egg.”

 

“How long have you been looking?”

 

“I'm pretty sure I've spent at least ten minutes on this one egg alone. You hid it well.”

 

A small smile creeps onto Cas' lips, and then he laughs. Dean raises his eyebrows, surprised by this uncommon display of emotion. Dean understands when Cas slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a bright blue egg. Dean gapes.

 

“Cas! Not cool, man, you totally screwed with me.”

 

Cas looks quite amused and entirely pleased with himself. “I thought it would be amusing.”

 

Dean snorts. “You're a jerk, you know that?”

 

“Hm, perhaps. But you've won yourself a massage, so you can't exactly complain.”

 

Dean is reminded of the prize – he'd forgotten. Honestly, he'd been kind of hoping Cas would win. He's not sure he can take the feeling of Cas nimble hands all over his bare back. He might actually lose his goddamn mind. He swallows, shifts his bow tie and absently clears his throat. He takes a seat in the grass, opting to watch Cas search for the remaining eggs while he tries to mentally steel himself for later.

 

Turns out Cas has lost because he's opening every egg as he finds them, pausing to look each one over. He doesn't say anything about them, just keeps searching every time. It makes Dean incredibly uncomfortable, being unable to read Cas' reaction. He doesn't like how self-conscious Cas' silence is making him.

 

At last, Cas finds the last egg and joins Dean on the ground. He's got a basket full of open eggs – and notes. Dean meticulously filled every egg with little notes for Cas. Every note has a reason he loves his boyfriend. Dean tries not to look at the basket and can't bring himself to look at Cas. His little gesture suddenly feels very, very lame.

 

“I love you,” Cas says, “I love all of you, everything. Thank you, Dean.” He sounds earnest, voice full of more emotion than Dean's used to. He thinks back on all the notes he stayed up writing last night. Things like  _I love your hands, dude, they're fucking beautiful_  and  _You threw a Molotov cocktail at Michael's head, you're a friggin badass._  He seriously lost all sense of dignity writing these; he's delved so far into chick flick land that he's actually concerned the testosterone levels in his body might get thrown off. Some messages were even worse.  _I love waking up next to you every morning,_ for one, and  _Nobody can tell me off like you can and it's awesome_. Cas is just staring at him now, eyes full of so much  _feeling_  that Dean doesn't even know what to do.

 

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean says, voice small and he feels smaller. He feels tiny under the impressive weight of all Cas' feelings for him.

 

*

 

They get back with just enough time for Cas to make dinner before Sam, Sarah, Bobby and Jodie arrive. They're still in their Sunday best when they get home, but the kitchen heats up quick when Cas sets the oven to preheat, and Cas puts his suit jacket, vest and dress shirt on the back of a chair in their tiny dining room. He's left wearing only a tight white tank top. Dean does the same, though he leaves his dress shirt on. He takes in the sight of the muscles in his boyfriend's back, his visibly thin but strong arms.

 

Dean peels the colored eggs so Cas can try out his recipe for deviled eggs. Cas finely chops smoked salmon to add to the eggs once they're prepared, combining it with a bunch of herbs Dean's not really familiar with. It looks appetizing, though, and Cas hands look cool as he chops everything and then whips it all together. It reminds Dean of all those chef shows on the Food Network, the way they all look impressive because they're professionals. Cas, of course, is not a professional, but sometimes Dean thinks that he should be.

 

Once Dean's done peeling, Cas says he doesn't need his help anymore. Dean pouts but otherwise doesn't complain; he has an inkling any more of his touches in the kitchen could potentially sabotage their dinner. He sits on the edge of the only counter Cas isn't using and watches him working, eyes tracing the movement of the other man's hands. Cas boils asparagus, chops shallot and puts it all together with a blend of salad greens, spices, oil and vinegar. It's one of the most appealing salads Dean's ever seen, and that's an incredible feat. Dean's not exactly a salad person.

 

Cas says he's not much of a ham person, and the recipe for lamb chops he's found sounds a lot more fun to cook, anyway. He goes about preparing it, nimble fingers squeezing lime and mincing garlic cloves. The sight of Cas' hands in a flurry of motion is driving Dean a little crazy; he can't stop thinking of all the  _other_  things Cas could be doing with those hands. He hops off the counter and strides over to Cas, wrapping his arms around Cas' waist and pressing his own chest to Cas' back. Cas' chopping pauses briefly, but after a moment the rhythm picks up again.

 

Dean presses a kiss to the side of Cas' neck and moves his mouth up to Cas' jaw, closing his eyes when his lips brush against scruffy stubble.

 

“Dean, I'm trying to cook,” Cas says, but it's a weak protest and Dean ignores it. Instead, he brings his mouth to the back of Cas' neck and nips a bite at the soft, sensitive skin there. Cas' whole body tenses up and he drops the knife on the counter with a loud clang.

 

“Dean,” he says, voice low and notably more gravelly than normal. Dean grins and does it again, earning a shudder from Cas.

 

“Dean – Dean, if this ham isn't in the oven in the next ten minutes, it won't be done in time,” Cas says, obviously struggling to keep his voice steady. Dean traces his nails up and down the fabric of Cas' tank top, over his sides. Dean inhales a shaky breath and places his hands over Dean's, gently pulling them off. He turns around and gives Dean a painfully chaste kiss.

 

“Go straighten up the living room,” he orders and Dean pouts as convincingly as he can. Cas isn't swayed, though, and Dean concedes to his fate. He treks out to the living room feeling sorry for himself, but he tucks his new found knowledge into the back of his head – the back of Cas' neck is a  _very_  intense weak spot.

 

Dean puts away any clothes that are hanging around their bedroom slash living room where they shouldn't be, dusts off the TV a bit and then plops onto the couch. He perks up when he hears the sound of the oven door closing, though.

 

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean whines, “come here and kiss me.”

 

“I have potatoes, rolls and pie to make, Dean.”

 

Dean makes a discontented sound but says nothing else. He takes Sunshine out of her cage and sits back on the couch, settling in and petting her. She's friendly and she twitches her nose at him, pressing her front paws to his chest and looking at him with a curiosity that reminds Dean of Cas. He lays his head back on the couch and closes his eyes with the sole intention of resting his eyes.

 

He awakes what feels like seconds later to the sound of the doorbell.

 

“Dean,” Cas says from the doorway of the kitchen. His tie is hanging loose from his neck and he's pulling on his jacket over his vest and dress shirt. “Dean, get dressed.” The doorbell rings again and Cas scowls. “My tie is undone.”

 

Dean yawns and stretches. “Sammy's early,” he mumbles.

 

“No, you fell asleep for an hour and a half. Get  _dressed_.” Cas opens the door, then. Bobby and Sheriff Mills are standing at the entrance; Sam and Sarah haven't arrived yet. Jodie is looking lovely in a white sundress, though it's disorienting seeing her in anything but her uniform. Bobby looks happy as a lark, from Dean's vantage point where he's tugging layers on.

 

“Hello, Bobby, Sheriff Mills,” Cas says, “Happy Easter.”

 

“Please, call me Jodie,” Jodie says warmly, smiling. “Happy Easter to you too, Castiel!”

 

“What she said,” Bobby says gruffly. Cas invites them in and Dean shakes hands, pats backs and revels in how happy Bobby looks with Jodie. Every time Bobby looks at her it's like he's eying a million dollars, and Dean can't remember the last time he saw Bobby this happy. Jodie looks equally pleased.

 

“It smells amazing in here,” Jodie says, looking surprised. Cas looks shy and busies himself with lighting his dorky Easter candles.

 

“Yeah, well, that's my Cas,” Dean says, and it sounds cheesy even to his own ears. Bobby's expression is beyond amused, borderline smug, but he doesn't say anything. He just exchanges knowing glances with Jodie. Yeah, Dean's got it bad – and apparently, everyone has noticed.

 

“Well, get cozy. Sam should be here soon,” Dean says, ushering them to the couches. The bunny's on the floor scampering about.

 

“Dean, that is one of the sissiest pets I've ever seen,” Bobby says when he catches sight of it. “You boys got yourselves a damn bunny.”

 

“Hey! Shut up. Sunshine's badass.”

 

“ _Sunshine?_ ” Bobby mocks. Jodie gives him a light punch on the arm.

 

“Quiet, Bobby, it's cute. She's obviously an Easter present.”

 

“Yeah, I got her for Cas,” Dean says awkwardly. The rabbit bounds over to him and stops at his feet, looking up at him expectantly. Dean rolls his eyes, but picks her up.

 

“ _Right_. For Cas,” Bobby says, that same knowing smirk on his lips. Dean scowls. Before he can retort, however, the doorbell rings. He puts Sunshine on his shoulder like Cas was before and quickly answers the door. Sam's there in Easter Sunday best, wearing a pastel blue tie. Sarah's there, too, in a bright yellow sundress and a matching yellow bow in her hair. The most remarkable thing, though, is Sam's hair. It's  _short_. Dean hasn't seen it this short since Stanford.

 

“Someone trimmed the mane!” Dean exclaims as he gives his brother a hug. “Sarah, man, I could kiss you. I've been telling this loser to cut his hair for years.”

 

Sarah grins. “I told him he had to sleep outside until he cut it. He is  _not_  supposed to be the Rapunzel in this relationship, thanks.”

 

Sam snorts. “You didn't mind when we first met.”

 

“Oh yes I did. I just saw the  _potential_  there.” She twirls a strand of Sam's hair fondly.

 

“Hmph,” Sam says, but the happy look on his face betrays him. Sam has it bad like Dean's got it bad, and Dean's grateful he's not the only one wearing the stupid-in-love look on his face that he knows he has.

 

Cas gives Sam an awkward hug and Sarah an even more awkward handshake, wishing them both a very formal Happy Easter. His stiffness is endearing. Dean reminds himself it's impolite to constantly kiss his boyfriend when there's company, but he can't stop himself from giving Cas a quick peck on the lips. It'd be much easier to be polite if Cas wasn't so damn adorable.

 

“Help me in the kitchen, Dean,” Cas becks as he goes into the kitchen. Dean follows obediently as Sam and Sarah strike up conversation with Bobby and Jodie behind him. Cas has the seldom-used cupboard with the wineglasses open, a bottle of wine in his hand.

 

“I need you to carry some of these,” Cas says. Dean raises an eyebrow.

 

“Wine?”

 

“The Internet says it goes well with Easter dinner.”

 

“Whatever you say, Cas,” Dean says, and plucks five glasses from their cabinet.

 

“You're short one,” Cas says, reaching past Dean to grab another glass. Dean shakes his head.

 

“Nope. I wanna be totally sober for... uh, later.”

 

Cas meets his eyes and seems to get the meaning, because he plucks a glass from Dean's hands and puts it back. Dean takes this as an incredibly good sign.

 

“Then I will refrain as well,” Cas says evenly. Dean gulps. He's pretty sure he's getting all green lights at this point, and he's starting to think he might actually move forward in the more intimate aspects in his relationship with Cas. The idea makes him nervous for some unknowable reason, though; his throat goes dry as he starts to think about it. He reminds himself that they have guests and pushes the thoughts out of his mind.

 

Bobby eyes Dean curiously when he doesn't drink with everyone else, but again acknowledges it only with a raise of his eyebrows. This time his knowing glance is exchanged with Sam, who smiles and reflects it. When Sam notices that Dean is witnessing this exchange, he has the grace to look guilty. Bobby, however, seems to have an eternally smug expression plastered on his face.

 

“This wine is great, Cas,” Sarah says, “Best I've had in a while. How'd you hear about it?”

 

“Internet,” Cas responds with simply. “There was a website about Easter. Among the crucifixes and Bible verses were recipes and wine recommendations.”

 

Sarah nods. “Makes sense. Catholics love to get their drink on.”

 

A timer dings from the kitchen and Cas smiles.

 

“Dinner is done,” he announces, “Dean, come help me set the table.”

 

Dean complies and follows Cas into the kitchen, plucking plates from the shelves. It dawns on him that he actually friggin loves holidays now. He's not sure at one point he transitions from “eh” to this new state – it snuck up on him, it seems – but he's beyond happy. The familiar clink of multiple plates being pulled out, the enticing aroma of a big family dinner... it's everything he never had when he was growing up. It's nothing short of amazing that Cas, a fallen angel who knew nothing of humanity, is the one who brings them all together again and again every time a holiday rolls around. He likes seeing his brother and Bobby so often, likes the sight of everyone all dressed up and formal. It feels warm in a way Dean hasn't felt since he was four years old, before his mother died. Cas in himself makes him feel warm all over. Dean's finally starting to realize that he doesn't have to doubt anymore; this new life of his isn't going away any time soon.

 

“Cas, you've outdone yourself!” Jodie exclaims once all the food's been served. Everyone else chimes in with their assent and load their plates with enough food to leave them more stuffed than is probably healthy. Everyone updates everyone else on their lives, affable chatter and the smell of excellent food filling the tiny dining room. Sam and Sarah are aiming for a Summer wedding, apparently. Jodie and Bobby eat dinner at Bobby's every night. Bobby's face does something dangerously close to  _blush_  when this information is disclosed, and Jodie rolls her eyes. All in all, everyone seems happy.

 

… It's actually kind of trippy.

 

They filter into the living room once they're done eating, waiting for their food to digest before tucking into dessert. Cas sits next to Dean, holding Sunshine, and leans into him. Dean's overwhelmed, yet again, and he can't stop himself from tugging Cas into his lap. He refrains from kissing him in fear of being obnoxious at this point, but Cas tilts his head and presses a kiss to Dean's lips and Dean can't really blame himself for  _that_. The kiss goes on longer than it ought to with company around.

 

“Jesus, guys, get a room. Little brother is here. Right here. Seeing you. I need to bleach my eyes.” Dean responds with his middle finger, but his lips part from Cas' with a tiny smirk. Cas' eyes are shining in the way they do when he's especially pleased.

 

“My apologies,” Cas says, giving Sam a sheepish smile, “I'm just... happy.”

 

Sam's returning smile is bright. “Hey, me too Cas. Me too.”

 

The evening ends with an  _awesome_  apple crumb pie and warm cups of Easter tea. Everyone looks at Cas like he's some sort of saint – and really, he should be – when it's time to leave. Sarah and Jodie ask for recipes as a last minute thought on their way out, and the three of them go to the kitchen to grab them.

 

“So,” Sam says.

 

“So,” Dean replies, raising an eyebrow.

 

“You planning on popping the question any time soon?” Sam asks with a smirk, and if Dean had been drinking something he probably would have spit it out all over Sam's face. The look he gives him is incredulous.

 

“Jesus, Sammy, it's a miracle I'm even in a relationship. I'm gonna go ahead and pretend that question never happened.”

 

“You better get on with it, idjit,” Bobby chimes in, “It's about time.” Dean turns his incredulous look on Bobby.

 

“Not you too, man. You can't be serious. I thought you'd be defending me.”

 

“You're not getting any younger, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean glowers.

  
“One more  _word_  and I am not responsible for any bodily harm that comes to you from my fists.”

 

Cas and the girls come from the kitchen. Cas has a peculiar expression on his face, and Dean can only assume the ladies and he had a similar conversation in the kitchen. Dean groans.

 

“You're all, like, diabolical. Get out of my house,” Dean says, teasing, and gives his everyone hugs on their way out. Cas' hugs are stiff but genuine, and they earn a laugh from Jodie.

 

“This was nice, Cas. Thanks for inviting us,” she says, smiling and ruffling a hand through Cas' hair.

 

“Thank you for coming. It was my pleasure.”

 

All too soon, they're alone in the house. It seems extra quiet in wake of the party of people, and Dean is painfully aware of his own breathing.

 

“Dean,” Cas says, taking a lighter from the coffee table and lighting all the candles that have blown out throughout the course of the night, “I still owe you a massage.”

 

Dean swallows. Yeah. That.

 

“You don't have to, man,” Dean says offhand, like he hasn't been thinking about it all day.

 

Cas shakes his head. “You won the Easter egg hunt, Dean. That makes this a 'holiday thing'. My domain.”

 

Dean nods slowly, eyes flickering to the bed. “So I should just...”

 

“Take off your shirt.” Even though Cas says it in an even tone, the words make Dean's pulse pound. Dean takes off his blazer and vest and starts fiddling with his bow tie when Cas strides over and pulls his bow tie loose himself. He unbuttons Dean's shirt as well, lovely fingers working down the front. Dean inhales sharply, exhales. _Just a massage_ , Dean tells himself, though he really doesn't believe it. Cas slowly, slowly pulls the dress shirt off Dean, and Dean pulls his tank top over his head. Feeling brazen, Dean plucks Cas' tie loose and pulls his blazer off him with artificial composure. Cas unbuttons his own shirt and leaves his tank top on, much to Dean's silent dismay.

 

“Lay down,” Cas says, and again his voice is level but the command makes Dean's heart flutter, anyway. He obeys, though, walking to the bed and laying on his stomach. Cas disappears into the bathroom to grab the same menthol oil Dean used on Valentine's Day. He shuts the lights off on his way over, leaving the room illuminated only by the numerous candles all around the room. A quiet sigh slips from Dean's lips when Cas coats his back with the tingly wet substance.

 

To Dean's complete and utter surprise, Cas doesn't massage him standing. Instead, he gets on the bed and puts his knees on either side of Dean, essentially straddling him without really touching him.

 

“Cas?” Dean asks, somehow hiding the quavery note his voice wants to make.

 

“I looked up the best way to do this,” Cas explains, “as I've never done it before. I was advised that this position would give me the best leverage for the right pressure on your back.”

 

“Oh,” is Dean's intelligent answer. He's still stuck on the word  _position_.

 

Cas fingers pressing hard against Dean's back are borderline more than he can bear, but he manages to keep his breathing steady and his hands from clutching at the sheets or something equally embarrassing. Cas' hands are as expert kneading his muscles as they are mincing things in the kitchen, and Dean's having trouble keeping it together.

 

“You're quite tense,” Cas mentions as he works, “Am I doing this wrong? Should I stop?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Dean hisses, and is surprised by the fervor in his voice. Cas seems surprised, too, because he pauses a moment. He continues after a beat, though.

 

Dean's back does relax after a while, though; whatever tutorial Cas researched definitely knew what it was talking about. After an indeterminable amount of time, Cas stops massaging him and instead presses kisses to Dean's spine. Dean shudders and isn't sure if Cas notices. Is Cas intentionally being this sensual, or is his angel really just naïve and full of love? Dean's sure it's the latter and chides himself for his thoughts.

 

When Cas bites at the place between Dean's shoulder and neck, any doubts on whether Cas is trying to turn him on are gone. He turns around quickly and wraps an arm around Cas, dragging him down til he's laying atop Dean. Cas' eyes are dark, and Dean's pretty sure it's not the low lighting to blame. He's also pretty sure his eyes are equally lust blown as Cas'.

 

“Dean,” Cas says, and there's something in his voice that makes Dean shiver again. He does not wait for further dialogue and kisses Cas, not hesitating to part the other man's lips with his tongue. Cas responds eagerly and Dean realizes suddenly that  _this is it._  This is happening.

 

Cas ghosts pretty fingers over Dean's bare chest, first tantalizingly light and quickly fading into something more intense. Smooth caresses become scratches, increasingly needy. Dean's not sure when each touch became electricity, but he decides all at once that it's incredibly unfair that he's the only one shirtless. He tugs at Cas' shirt and Cas gets the picture, pulling the shirt over his head and going back to kissing Dean immediately. There is breathing – ragged, breathy breathing –  _barely_  breathing. Urgency heightens with each passing moment.

 

The candlelight dances shadows on the walls, making the room around them feel small. It helps in making the rest of the world slip away; soon all and everything is Cas, Cas, Cas. Cas' chest against him feels  _right_ , like it's something Dean hadn't realized he'd been missing but had actually needed desperately. He feels like a kid, wanting to bite and brand Cas with hickeys and scratches. And yet, there's something soft about it all, despite the urgency, the  _need_. It's romantic. Dean has never had intimacy as romantic as this. Every kiss is  _I love you_ , every touch, be it gentle or otherwise, is an unsaid whisper, a mantra of love declarations. Dean sucks bruises against Cas' collar bones, his neck, and hopes his mouth can speak without words.

 

Thunder claps outside and startles them both, Cas jumping visibly and then casting a glare at the window as though the ensuing rain outside it had made a conscious decision to interrupt. The rain seems to ignite something in Cas, though, and the fierce look he casts at Dean makes his heart skip a beat. Then Cas is trailing kisses down, down, down, stopping to lick into Dean's belly button. Dean whimpers, throws his head back and gasps again and again for air. Cas lingers at the line of Dean's slacks, tongue and lips and teeth giving attention that might literally make Dean lose his mind. He resorts to shameful begging.

 

“Cas – please -” he says, voice sounding hoarse and broken to his own ears. He's suddenly reminded of the first time he said those words, begging Cas for mercy. The situation had been so different – Cas had been beating him within an inch of his life in a cold, wet alley. Dean had failed Cas miserably, then, and Cas' righteous fury had exploded into the worst beating of Dean's life.

 

“Just  _do it_ ,” Dean pleas, again echoing his words from that night. Circumstances are different, now. No one's failing anyone. The only thing in this room is shallow breathing and unadulterated love. Dean's hips tremble as he fights their insatiable will to buck forward, body willing to be in synch with the nonsensical whimpers and begs flowing from his mouth. Cas – Cas actually  _chuckles_ , low and dark and completely unexpected. Dean can't take it.

 

“ _God,_  Cas,” Dean half-hisses, “Cas – Cas, fuck.” Dean's starting to forget every word in his vocabulary but Cas' name. Dean can feel Cas' smile against his flesh as he moves up Dean's body and nips at Dean's nipples.

 

“You fucking cocktease,” Dean growls, hands quickly reaching to Cas' hair and tugging at it relentlessly.

 

“What?” Cas asks, pausing, clearly unfamiliar with the expression. Dean groans.

 

“It means I might actually explode if you don't suck me off or fuck me  _now_.”

 

“Oh,” Cas says, and aptly goes back to Dean's nipples, as though he's decided he's perfectly fine with being a cocktease. Dean tries to protest but his words are interrupted by a tiny moan he didn't give his throat permission to make.

 

“You're going to  _kill_  me,” Dean says, and he know he sounds wrecked and needy. He hasn't wanted it like this in a long time – maybe never.

 

His hands slip to the small of Cas' back, trying to go on the offensive, trying to make Cas feels like he feels. Cas moans, a small, muted thing, and Dean feels mostly successful.

 

“Cases of death due to sex between two consenting parties are rare, Dean.”

 

“Oh God – Word to the wise, Cas? Do not take anything I say during sex literally.”

 

Cas stops what his mouth is doing and looks at Dean curiously, furrowing his brow and tilting his head. It might look comical, Cas looking so confused with his hair all disheveled and his lips kissed pink and puffy, if Dean weren't so turned on. He is, though, and his lust-filled mind is screaming at him that any type of stopping is  _bad_.

 

“No – fuck, ignore that. Not  _anything_. Like if I tell you how friggin hot you are – or, y'know  _fuck me,_  you should take that very literally.”

 

“I see,” Cas says. Dean slips one of his thighs between Cas' leg and thrusts upward with his hips. It has the intended effect – Cas' eyes squeeze shut and breathes hard, whimpers, seems to fall apart a little. Dean leads Cas' face to his with a hand to his jaw, kisses him again and again.

 

“How long have you wanted this?” Dean asks, breathless.

 

“Since before I fell. I think that I have always been yours, Dean. Since the moment I branded your soul with my hand, I was yours.”

 

Cas places his hand over Dean's scar and squeezes, and this information is almost too much. Cas has loved Dean a very, very long time.

 

“Didn't know angels could want this,” Dean says, thrusting up, creating glorious friction that left Cas mewling.

 

“The want felt different then. Restrained. With my humanity has come a new-” Cas' words are broken off with a gasp; Dean has his palm over Cas' crotch, gripping lightly. Cas' breath comes fast and shallow.

 

Dean leans forward, presses his mouth to Cas' ear.

 

“Show me how human you are,” Dean says, voice a low growl. He can feel Cas shaking at the stimulation in the sensitive nerves around his ear. “Fuck me.”

 

Cas looks at him, meeting his eyes for a moment and then glancing away.

 

“Dean,” he says, sounding suddenly stilted and awkward, “I want to.” He gasps again when Dean bucks his hips forward. “But – Dean ...  _how?_ ” He sounds so sheepish Dean wants to hug him. Which would be really weird under the current circumstances.

  
Dean realizes that Cas has no idea what he's doing. He's going on pure instinct here – he's never been with anyone before, never seen porn, has no prior knowledge of sex. All he has is what his body is telling him, Dean's words and actions. While it'd probably be easier to roll them over and take over, teach Cas by example, it's inexplicably important that Cas leads for his first time.

 

… He seems pretty comfortable on top as it is.

 

“I'll teach you,” Dean says, “But you might wanna get us out of our pants.”

 

Cas nods, awkwardness gone in a flash. He makes quick work of stripping Dean of his pants and boxers and then his own. Cas moans properly for the first time when their dicks make contact with bare skin. Dean revels in it, shivers shaking through his system. The sound is like gold.

 

“Fingers inside me, man,” Dean says, trying to keep this from being awkward, “you gotta, uh...”  
  
Cas complies immediately, seeming to get Dean's idea right off the bat. Which would be seriously lucky for Dean if he hadn't forgotten a  _seriously crucial detail_. Dean grits his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath and then gasping, shaking his head but unable to speak because...  _ow_. It's not Cas' fault he didn't know about the necessity of lube, but Dean hasn't bottomed in years and the pain is pretty intense given Cas is only two fingers in. Thankfully, Cas plucks his fingers out immediately at the sight of Dean's duress.

 

“Dean?” 

 

Dean heaves another great sigh and collects himself. He points at the menthol oil Cas used on his back and gives a small chuckle when Cas gives him a curious look.

 

“If you're sticking anything inside me, it's gotta be wet,” Dean explains, and something seems to click in Cas' brain.

 

“Dean, I'm so-”

 

Dean shakes his head vigorously. “Cas, shh,” he breathes in and out, chest shaking, “My fault.” Cas is hovering over him, looking like a strange mix between concerned and completely wrecked with  _want_. The sight pulls Dean up short and he realizes he needs to get this show on the road  _now_. He's pretty sure he can't handle seeing Cas so undone any longer if he plans on keeping it together.

 

“Cas – need you, Cas, please -” he says, giving the bottle of oil a pointed look. This quiet plea sets Cas in motion, and he coats his hands, his dick in the slippery substance. His fingers hesitate this time before they push in, but a very undignified whimper from Dean gives him the courage to try a second time. This time, the contact of fingers inside him makes Dean's back arch and he gasps – there's nothing awkward about this, for friggin sure.

 

“Sc – scissor -” Dean instructs, but Cas looks confused. Dean stares at the ceiling, groaning at his awful luck. They should have watched porn together first or something.

 

“Fuck, uh – open me up, dude, you're about to stick something really big somewhere really tight.” Cas nods and acts accordingly. His fingers abjectly brush Dean's prostate and his whole body freezes up for a short moment.

  
“Fuck – fuck, okay, I'm ready. Like  _now._ Shit,” Dean's half babbling, pressing down in Cas' fingers. He's got his face buried in Cas' neck and the kisses he leaves there are almost worshipful.

 

Cas seems to like the whole cocktease thing, because instead of complying he brushes that sensitive spot  _again_  and Dean's completely taken apart, mouthing forming an 'O' and breaths shuddery against Cas' skin.

 

“Now what?” Cas asks, and Dean is pretty sure he's going to lose his marbles at this point.

 

“Now you shove yourself inside me and  _move_ , Christ.”

 

Cas nods. “I thought so.”

 

Dean might have rolled his eyes if Cas' fingers hadn't hit that  _spot_  again before they pulled out. Cas positions himself over Dean, heaves a deep breath and pushes in. And – and somehow this naïve, awkward, confused fallen angel manages to hit Dean's prostate on the spot, first time. Dean throws his head back and is completely not in charge of the animal noises that slip from his mouth.

 

Cas' body seems to finally know what it's doing because he doesn't need to ask Dean what to do anymore. He rolls his hips forward, hitting that spot again and again. Again, there's something acutely romantic in it. Cas' thrusts seem somehow  _meaningful_  – this isn't just sex. It's being one with the man Dean loves. It's being filled with the guy who went to friggin  _hell_  to save him.

 

Dean's fists curl in the sheets and Cas places his own hands over them, squeezing tight. Every time Dean opens his eyes, he sees Cas' blue eyes staring down, startlingly dark. Dean can't keep his eyes open for too long at a time; Cas' stare is simply too intense.

 

Cas leans forward to whisper in Dean's ear. “I love you,” he says, nearly inaudibly – and that's it, that's a wrap, Dean's a goner. He quickly buries his face in Cas' neck, unfurls his hands so he can hold Cas' as he comes, great quavery shakes and tiny whimpers streaming from his mouth. Cas pulses forward only a few thrusts more before his body seizes up and he comes, too.

 

They lay in a heap together, panting and recovering, chest to chest as they regain a normal rate of breath. Finally, Cas leans up on his elbow and looks at Dean.

 

“Happy Easter,” he says, and Dean laughs.

 

“You're really something, Cas,” Dean says, grinning. Cas grins back – and a grin from Cas is a rare occasion. Dean absorbs the mental image, wonders if Cas will always smile this wide after sex. Dean hooks an arm around Cas and pulls him to his chest, rolls him over so he can spoon the man who pretty much just fucked his brains out.

 

“I'm glad I'm human,” Cas says after a while, so long that Dean thought he might have fallen asleep. Dean presses kiss to Cas' hair.

 

“Me too, Cas,” he agrees sleepily, and after a moment, “Happy Easter.”

 

They fall asleep in their messy bed with their feet entangled. The last thing Dean thinks before he drifts off is that the phrase 'made for each other' suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.

 

 


	8. Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has never had sex before, but he firmly believes that no one in the world has ever felt like this. There's something powerful between them, an incredible force, forged in the very deepest depths of hell. Each time Castiel rocks back and forth, pushes his body in and out, it's like that bond is renewed again and again. It's bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last scene of April Showers and a Little Sunshine from Castiel's point of view, but can be read as a stand alone (I think). As always, unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Castiel isn't an angel anymore, so he cannot determine Dean's exact body temperature just by looking at him. If he had to guess, though, judging by the way Dean's flesh trembles and seems to burn beneath his fingers, he'd place it at least 100 degrees. Castiel thinks he might be running at that temperature, too, thinks he might be quietly igniting and he loves it. He decides, here and now, that humanity is infinitely better than anything else. Dean shaking and shivering and breathing unevenly, all because of Castiel's touch – that's worth even losing his wings for.

 

More than worth it.

 

Castiel is in tune with Dean on every level; this is something that has not changed since he fell. He is acutely aware of Dean's breathing, the way he's trying to behave himself and steady it. He wonders if Dean believes that he's succeeding in hiding it from him. Castiel shifts a little on his knees and presses hard against a particularly taut muscle, and Dean makes an almost inaudible gasp. Castiel furrows his brow. He is learning that the sounds the human body makes for pain and pleasure are unsettlingly similar.

 

“You're quite tense,” Castiel says, a note of concern in his voice. “Am I doing this wrong? Should I stop?” He's not sure what to make of how Dean seems to be frozen all over – he knows that he's meant to be loosening Dean up.

 

“ _No_ ,” is Dean's sharp, jarring response. Castiel pauses, taken aback. It seems his suppositions were incorrect. He wonders, though, why Dean sounds so angry if he is truly enjoying himself. Still, Castiel chooses not to question it and obediently carries on.

 

Time goes on, and Castiel has trouble focusing on what he's doing. This human body of his is sending him all sorts of messages, each of them like liquid fire. It tells him that this slow touching is not enough. His body wants  _more_ , and a part of Castiel is certain that it will get its wish tonight. He has resolved not to stop until Dean is relaxed, though. He wants these tense, taut muscles to be soft against his hands. Eventually, Dean's back seems to bear no further stress. Pleased, Castiel presses a kiss to the skin he just worked into something malleable.

 

Dean's entire body seems to come alive at this, though he barely moves. It's something that Castiel simply  _knows_ ; as Dean's angel, it is his job to know. Emboldened by this powerful reaction, Castiel gives more kisses, tracing Dean's spine with his lips. Dean's hands twitch and Castiel's body commands  _more!_

 

It seems right to add teeth to the equation, and Castiel praises this human body for knowing that it was – Dean reacts instantly, supplies the  _more_  Castiel has been wanting. He rolls over, tugs Castiel down atop him, pressing their bodies together. They are both on fire, and now that they are one, they are a roaring  _flame_.

 

“Dean,” Castiel gasps. His voice sounds odd, inexplicably hoarse, but it flips a switch in Dean that sets him into action.

 

Dean's mouth is wet and warm and urgent as he swiftly probes the inside of Castiel's mouth with his tongue. This is an strange sensation, made even more so by the absence of alcohol, but it is a  _good_  one and Castiel's heart begins to pound with the force of a rushing train. There is a short moment when Castiel's mouth tries to figure out how to reciprocate this kind of kiss, but the instincts he has become so grateful for kick in and soon his tongue trades places with Dean's, licking into his lover's mouth insistently. If the quiet noises Dean is making are any indication, Castiel is performing well.

 

It strikes Castiel that tonight, one of his greatest wishes will be coming true. One way or another, he will be  _one_  with the man he loves more than life itself.

 

Castiel's body tells him to  _touch_  and he complies, mapping out his lover's body with his fingertips. Dean's chest is already a tiny bit wet with sweat, as though the fire within him is quickly taking over. Castiel's fingertips are replaced by fingernails, quickly scratching over Dean's skin and leaving red marks so pretty that Castiel is caught off guard. Again, the fine line between pain and pleasure surprises him, but he likes the way Dean's skin looks, the sensation of his nails dragging into flesh. The contact of nails to skin seems to create invisible sparks where they touch. Castiel has thought and thought about this, about being this close to Dean... but his thoughts never came close to this, the real thing.

 

Dean tries to peel off Castiel's shirt and Castiel readily assists, just as eager as Dean to be closer still. Skin to skin leaves Castiel short of breath for a moment; he is ready for this, for all of this,  _so_  ready to be within Dean or have him within himself – anything to be closer. Their mouths collide, hot and heavy, and every inch, every pore of Castiel's flesh seems to scream with pleasure and that same desire for  _more_. They bite at each other's lips, suck on tongues, explore each other's mouths fervently, with purpose. Each time they break to breathe, their lips hover close enough to exchange each other's air. Castiel cannot even recall what breathing feels like in the absence of Dean's breath. He thinks perhaps that oxygen is artificial air, and all that is truly real is the wind from Dean's lungs.

 

Right now, Castiel's body feels exactly as his heart always has – entirely, completely connected to Dean's. The rest of the world is ephemeral, unimportant; Dean, his flesh and his searing eyes, panting breath and burning heart – these are what matter. And, at this moment, they are all that  _exist_. The light from the candles Castiel has grown to love so much only add to this, casting a subdued and quiet light that makes Dean look almost holy. It’s an adequate representation of how Castiel feels about Dean.

 

There is a powerful warmth between Castiel’s legs that is at once both familiar and impossibly foreign. Since he fell, he’s had everything a human has, including a sexual appetite. He knows the feeling of hard-on, has come to associate it entirely of Dean and all the things he’s wanted to do with him, to him. This, though, is much different. Much  _more_. This is a heat with an answering heat. Every time their hips collide, Castiel has to close his eyes because he can now physically feel it all being reciprocated. Dean’s body, the stiffness between Dean’s legs, everything is reassuring Castiel that Dean wants him, wants all of him. Wants this. Their hips clash again and again, upward movements from Dean mirroring downward movements from Castiel. Castiel is not used to having no control over his vocal cords, but he doesn’t mind the array of gasps and whimpers dripping from his mouth.

 

Dean gives strange new kisses, ones with teeth and suction that leave bright bruises flowering on Castiel’s neck. Castiel loves them. They make his toes curl and his eyes clamp shut, steal his breath away. He knows that tomorrow, in morning light, these bruises will be there, all bright and fierce. The thought makes him shiver. Traces of Dean will be with him all over his flesh, for anyone to see. Everyone will know that he belongs to Dean. His mouth urges him to lean forward, to whisper ‘ _I am yours, I am yours, I am yours. All that I am belongs to you’_ , but he refrains. Instead, he covers Dean’s mouth with his in a wet and messy open-mouthed kiss laced with shudders and underlying near-moans. Dean quakes below him. They share a sort of fervor, a quiet desperation that has them all hands, everywhere, as though memorizing the plains of each other’s skin.

 

Dean’s mouth is on Castiel’s neck, then his collar bones – this proves to be a sensitive spot that makes a whole new surge of heat blossom between Cas’ legs. He is trying hard to steady his breath when a loud burst of thunder crackles outside, filling the room with its roar. Rain follows shortly after, and Castiel is immediately irritated with the interruptions. This moment is his and Dean’s alone; the elements have no right to intrude. Another wave of thunder makes Castiel’s pulse pound, though, as though it somehow managed to charge his flow of blood. Lightning silhouettes his features when he looks down at Dean again. Dean visibly gulps, and Castiel is fairly certain that the gaze he’s giving Dean might finally be conveying all the contained wildfire lingering just below the surface.

 

Castiel’s movements are on autopilot. It feels right to move his kisses elsewhere and he does so; Dean’s rapid reactions, his staggered breathing and twitching body affirm that this is true. Dean’s chest, his stomach, his bellybutton – all are uncharted territory. This new expanse of Dean’s body to explore is excited, sends jolts downward to pool below Castiel’s stomach like an electric storm. When Castiel licks into Dean’s bellybutton, the instantaneous response is rewarding, invigorating. Dean throws his head back against the pillows, vocalizes his pleasure and  _want_  with a series of undignified whimpers. Castiel notes that the farther down he directs his attention, the more wild and uncontained Dean’s reactions, which makes sense.

 

“Cas –  _please_  –“ Dean chokes out in a hoarse and broken voice. Castiel doesn’t waver. He thinks he knows what Dean wants, can feel it in his gut, but he is enjoying the way Dean is writhing and is not willing to move any lower just yet. He is savoring every moment, every second. Dean is beautiful when he is undone, and Castiel is content to watch him fall apart beneath his own mouth and tongue.

 

“Just  _do it_ ,” his lover begs, and Castiel surprises himself with the low chuckle that escapes his own lips. He’s vaguely aware there’s something dark and dirty about this laugh, something that gives everything a new edge. Dean’s hips twitch and he’s slowly unraveling beneath the careful nips and bites Castiel is giving the skin above the hem of his slacks. Dean seems to have lost all control of his vocal cords. The desperate whimpers and nonsense pleas that stream from Dean’s mouth are like a symphony that Castiel is not yet willing to turn off.

 

“God, Cas,” Dean spits the words like he’s angry, but Castiel knows better. “Cas – Cas, fuck.” Castiel isn’t sure why Dean’s profanity and growing desperation makes him smirk, but he makes sure his lips are close to Dean’s skin when he does. He wants Dean to  _feel_  it. Castiel can feel his own nipples hardening, feels how tingly and sensitive they are, and it occurs to him that this is another place on Dean that needs his attention. He trails kisses upwards and nips and sucks at Dean’s nipples. Dean’s hands find their way to Castiel’s hair and he tugs again and again, a desperate gesture that makes Castiel gasp and shake all over. He finds that he really, really loves having his hair pulled. He wants to tell Dean that he can tug harder, that it feels  _good_  and it will feel better with more force, but his words are lost in all the gasps whimpers he keeps forgetting that he’s making against Dean’s flesh.

 

“You fucking cocktease,” Dean says, voice coming out like a growl. Castiel stops short – what does that mean? He doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing; he has never heard this expression before.

 

“What?” Castiel asks unsurely, moving his lips from the Dean’s stiff nipples, now wet from Castiel’s mouth. Dean groans like the question is mind-boggling.

“It means I might actually explode if you don't suck me off or fuck me  _now_ ,” is Dean’s fervent answer, and he flexes his hips just the smallest bit to reiterate his point. Understanding dawns on Castiel; Dean wants the same  _more_  that Castiel does… but Castiel is not ready to give it. Not yet. He has work yet to do.

 

“Oh,” he responds before abruptly returning his tongue to Dean’s nipples. The contact rips a shaky moan from Dean’s throat, and Castiel shivers all over. He likes the quiet noises Dean has been making, but he especially likes  _this_  sound. He hopes he can hear more of it.

 

“You're going to kill me,” Dean gasps, voice urgent like he’s pleading with a serial killer. It sounds so honest that Castiel is momentarily concerned, but his thoughts are frazzled when Dean slides a hand across his back, rests it on the small of his back before scratching hard in every direction. Castiel moans, muted but still sounding loud in the quiet room. Castiel is surprised at how his mouth no longer needs permission for the sounds it makes. Dean’s breathing is erratic and Castiel finds it dizzying, intoxicating.

 

He’s still mildly concerned about Dean’s sentiment, though, and makes sure to comfort him. “Cases of death due to sex between two consenting parties are rare, Dean,” he assures him, replacing tongue for a quick close-mouthed kiss to Dean’s chest in an effort to be reassuring.

 

“Oh God – Word to the wise, Cas? Do not take anything I say during sex literally.”

 

This is a confusing concept, and it makes Castiel pause again and look up at Dean with curious eyes. He tilts his head, a question on his mouth, but Dean corrects himself quickly.

 

“No – fuck, ignore that. Not  _anything_. Like if I tell you how friggin hot you are – or, y'know  _fuck me,_  you should take that very literally.”

 

“I see.” This takes a second to decompress – how exactly is Castiel supposed to know when Dean is being literal or figurative? He supposes it’s something that he will learn with time. Dean does not like this pause, though; he introduces a form of pressure into the equation that is entirely, utterly new. Dean slips his thigh between Castiel’s leg and thrusts upward with his hips hard, creating an intense friction that overwhelms Castiel for a moment. His eyes cement shut and his breath goes on a roller coaster ride, short and fast and hard, interrupted by unholy whimpers and other sounds he was not aware he knew how to make.

 

Dean makes use of Castiel’s momentary distraction and grabs hold of his jaw, yanks him upward so that he can kiss him over and over. The clash of lips and tongues and teeth feels somehow heightened with this new friction. Now there’s heat  _everywhere_.

 

Dean grips Cas’ face with his hands when they break to breathe. “How long have you wanted this?” he asks suddenly, as though the answer is quite imperative.

 

“Since before I fell,” Castiel responds without hesitating, “I think that I have always been yours, Dean. Since the moment I branded your soul with my hand, I was yours.” To add to this point, Castiel places his hand to Dean’s handprint scar. Of course, the two click together like a puzzle piece. Something, some feeling dances in Dean’s eyes and Castiel is fairly certain that it’s love.

 

“Didn't know angels could want this,” Dean says, and there is a note of genuine surprise beneath the dark lust that overlays the words. He thrusts upward with his hips and Cas gasps and gasps again and again, a drowning man scrambling for air. He likes this drowning, though, likes the ache building up in him. He could drown and drown forever with Dean.

 

“The want felt different then,” Castiel explains, “Restrained. With my humanity has come a new-” Castiel’s sentence stops in his tracks because Dean’s hand has found its way to his crotch and is applying pressure. Castiel is rendered speechless, eyes wide and throat only capable of nonsense sounds and shallow breathing. Dean brings his lips to Castiel’s ear, and his uneven breathing mirrors Castiel’s own. The feel of it against his ear makes Castiel feel wild inside and that agonizing cry for  _more_  that he body has been sending out culminates into a vicious wave of want.

 

“Show me how human you are.  _Fuck me_.”

 

Castiel’s heart thrashes in his chest and his lungs seem to be confused, but he realizes he’s met an unfortunate standstill. He has no idea how to proceed, no idea how to give Dean what he wants. All of the sudden he feels inadequate. Dean could be with a legion of practiced lovers, yet he is stuck with Castiel, in all his naivety and inexperience.

 

“Dean, I want to,” he pants, and his sentence quavers sharply because Dean punctuates it with an upward thrust. Castiel tries again. “But – Dean ...  _how?_ ” he finally manages. His voice sounds small.

 

“I'll teach you,” Dean says without missing a beat, seemingly lacking all of Castiel’s misgivings. “But you might wanna get us out of our pants.”

 

The idea of more of Dean’s flesh exposed is enough to shake the shyness from Castiel and he quickly sets to work stripping them both as quickly as possible. He’s proud of his efficiency, though the thought barely has time to register before the friction from earlier is restored, but this time it is without any clothing barring flesh from flesh. Castiel moans again, though it lacks the muted quality from before; this is much louder, much more shameless. It trails off with a hiss that Dean swallows up with his mouth.

 

“Fingers inside me, man,” Dean instructs, “you gotta, uh...” Castiel thinks he understands and complies quickly; he’s eager to move forward, to explore every inch of Dean with every inch of himself. If Dean wants Castiel’s fingers within him, Castiel isn’t going to waste a moment in giving it to him. Castiel inserts a finger, then two, eager for Dean’s reaction…

 

… but it’s all wrong. Castiel has learned that pain and pleasure sound similar, that a body seizing up all over can be either good or bad. It is confusing, sometimes, but in this instance he needs no clarification. Dean is in pain. His teeth are gritted and he’s shaking his head like he wants to talk but can’t. Castiel pulls his fingers out as soon as it registers that Dean’s sharp breaths are an indication that something is very  _wrong_ , not the opposite. He pulls back to rest on his elbows so he can look at Dean.

 

“Dean?”

 

Dean seems to be steadying himself, recovering from whatever Castiel did wrong that’s made him hurt so badly. Castiel feels a gnawing guilt bubbling to the surface. He does not know what he did to cause Dean pain, but the weight of knowing that  _he_  caused it is nearly enough to sober his thoughts completely. He wants to kiss Dean again and again, apologize for whatever fatal error has caused Dean to feel anything but pleasure during this.

 

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean chuckles and gives Castiel a genuine smile once he’s collected himself.

 

“If you're sticking anything inside me, it's gotta be wet,” he explains, gesturing to the bottle of menthol oil Castiel had been using before. He gives Castiel a look that is at once sympathetic and pained, like he wants to roll his eyes but is refraining for Castiel’s sake. Basic physics quickly comes to mind to back Dean’s explanation and Castiel briefly considers hitting himself on the head for not thinking of it.

 

“Dean,” he breathes, peering down at Dean’s flushed features and lust-blown pupils. Castiel’s concern and overwhelming desire are conflicted. His shame outweighs them both, though. “I’m so-

 

Dean quickly shakes his head, cutting Castiel’s sentence off with a soft, “Shh” that effectively soothes him. “Cas, shh. My fault.” Their eyes meet and there’s another invisible spark of electricity and everything seems to get back on track. It’s as though all they needed was to link eyes and  _see_  the intense need there to plow forward and move past this awkward moment. Dean still wants him; Castiel can see it in the heat of his gaze. The eye contact seems to have inspired a whole lot of  _something_ in Dean, who grabs Castiel’s jaw and kisses him harshly, panting against his lips.

 

“Cas – need you, Cas, please -” Dean whimpers, looking at the menthol oil pointedly. Castiel’s hands tremble as he grabs for it, nearly drops it (though, thankfully, Dean does not notice), and cautiously opens the top. He covers his hands with it – and, after a quick second’s contemplation, realizes that they’re not the only thing needs to be wet. His heart pulses ever faster as he thinks of it, as it dawns on him as he applies more oil that he’s going to be  _one_  with Dean for the first time since the pit.

 

He hesitates the briefest moment before pressing fingers in again, though, afraid of a repeat of Dean's initial pain – but this reaction is completely different than before. Dean's response is instant and intense; Dean's back arches in a way that makes Castiel dizzy and Dean gasps short and sharp and  _euphoric_. The fire in Castiel's bloodstream kicks into overdrive. He's drunk off of Dean, incoherent with  _want_  , a pressing need for more.

 

“Sc – scissor -” Dean rasps, and again Castiel curses his inexperience. He has no idea what Dean is asking for, and the exasperated groan Dean gives out indicates that he's just as frustrated and eager to get this show on the road, so to speak, as Dean is. Castiel hopes the look he gives Dean is enough to tell him that he needs to _explain_.

 

“Fuck, uh – open me up, dude, you're about to stick something really big somewhere really tight.” Castiel nods; this makes sense. He adds a finger, then another, forming 'scissors', as Dean put it. He opens Dean up as instructed, savoring the trail of filthy noises that are streaming from Dean's mouth. Then... then  _something_ happens, something that causes Dean to go still all over, whole body tense and rippling with what appears to be pleasure. Castiel hit something – some spot, some aspect of Dean's anatomy that seems to have sent a rush of ecstasy through his nervous system. Castiel surges with pride.

 

Dean presses down against Castiel's fingers something close to desperately, voice all heat and fire. “Fuck – fuck, okay, I'm ready. Like  _now._ Shit,” he babbles, followed by cries of, “Fuck, Cas” and “Jesus  _Christ_ ” and other nonsense as Castiel strikes that spot again and again. Dean buries his face in Castiel's neck and leaves kisses everywhere, mouth eagerly coating skin. Castiel's breath is becoming increasingly erratic as he struggles to keep his head in light of how Dean's coming apart. 

 

Castiel ignores Dean's request at first, instead taking a moment to absorb Dean's intense reactions, the way his mouth seems to even forget how to kiss as he breathes with an open mouth against Castiel's skin. It occurs to Castiel that there is even  _more_  to come – and it also strikes him that he is yet again unsure how to proceed. This time, though, he has a fairly good idea.

 

“Now what?” he asks, trying not to be embarrassed at his lack of certainty.

 

“Now you shove yourself inside me and  _move_ , Christ.”

 

“I thought so.” With one last stroke to that  _spot_  , which renders Dean gasping yet again, Castiel withdraws his fingers. Dean sucks in air like a man drowning and Castiel positions himself, takes a steadying breath and pushes in.

 

For a moment, Castiel's mind is shocked completely blank. All that is conscious are his senses, each nerve cell bursting like supernovas beneath his flesh. The white hot heat that is  _Dean_ encasing Castiel, surrounding him, is all-encompassing. As the wheels in Castiel's head start to churn again, the first thought he thinks is  _this was worth falling for._ It's not about the pure, carnal pleasure of sex, though that is certainly something to be spoken of. It's about  _Dean_ , about this blinding perfection of being one with him. If Castiel ever forgot for a moment that he burned a mark on Dean's soul, he is reminded in an instant. With their bodies linked like this, Castiel doesn't need his Grace to feel the full strength of this connection.

 

Oh, Castiel is very much in love.

 

Dean is writhing beneath him, making noises and saying things Castiel is almost sure the other man isn't conscious of. It's mostly sentence fragments that make little sense and a recurring whisper of “ _Cas, Cas, Cas_ ” that nearly knocks the breath from Castiel. Castiel's body is on autopilot now; he doesn't need to think to know to rock his hips, doesn't need to focus on maintaining a steady rhythm because his body knows what to do. It is something Castiel appreciates very much about humanity. Dean's legs wrap around Castiel's waist, shifting their angle slightly and make it that much more intense. Beads of sweat collect on Castiel's forehead and all over his body. All that his brain is registering is shock after shock of sheer bliss with each roll of his hips.

 

Dean's fists claw wildly at the sheets and then bury deep in them. Castiel slips his hands over Dean's and squeezes tight before lacing their fingers together. He watches Dean intensely, looks at his face as he thrusts inside him, memorizing every single wave of emotion that pulse through it. Dean's eyes are mostly closed, but he opens them often and sees Castiel looking at him. Their eyes lock again and again. Castiel can't look away. Dean seems overwhelmed every time, like this kind of connection runs so deep it's overpowering.

 

And really, it  _is_. Castiel has never had sex before, but he firmly believes that no one in the world has ever felt like this. There's something powerful between them, an incredible force, forged in the very deepest depths of hell. Each time Castiel rocks back and forth, pushes his body in and out, it's like that bond is renewed again and again. It's bliss.

 

Castiel's body is shaking all over and his mouth is uttering sounds he never made the choice to make. Humanity is strange in this way. As an angel, Castiel was aware of every minute intricacy of his existence. He was conscious of every pulse of his vessel's heart and every tremble of his vocal cords. Now, though, he's hardly conscious of the whimpers and tiny moans his throat is coming up with. He's only vaguely aware that he's been saying Dean's name under his breath almost constantly, whispering it like a prayer every time he catches his breath.

 

All these feelings, physical and emotion and deeply, deeply spiritual, are too much. Dean has to  _know_ , has to understand what all this means. All Castiel can think to do is to lean forward and bring his lips to Dean's ear, and all he can think to say is “ _I love you_.” His voice is wrecked and broken and gravelly but it seems to resonate all throughout Dean.

 

Dean quickly, quickly buries his face deep in Castiel's neck and moans Castiel's name as his whole body shakes and releases. Warm liquid fills the space between them and in a brief second Castiel wonders at how a bodily fluid can be so  _symbolic_. Dean's body goes limp beneath him and his eyes, dark green in the candlelight, are so fond and so overflowing with love when he looks up at Castiel that he simply cannot bear it any longer. Castiel's body quakes and his movements become erratic before he seizes up, gasps like he's been punched and comes as well.

 

They are a limp heap of sweat and breathlessness as they both breathe hard but quietly, collecting themselves. Their chests are pressed together and Castiel's head lays tucked under Dean's chin. They're quiet an unknowable amount of time before Castiel props himself up on his elbow to look at Dean.

 

“Happy Easter,” is the first thing that comes to mind to say – and really, it  _is_. Dean laughs.

 

“You're really something, Cas,” he says, and his voice is soft and fond and makes Castiel warm all over. Castiel smiles big and wide and a little goofy, surprising himself. His face doesn't do this very often. Dean wraps an arm around Castiel's waist and pulls him down and positions him so that they're laying on their sides and Castiel's back is pressed to his chest. Castiel has learned from Dean that this is called 'spooning'.

 

“I'm glad I'm human,” Castiel says with a yawn after many minutes in contented silence. He feels Dean press a kiss to the back of his head.

 

“Me too, Cas,” Dean says back, sounding equally sleepy but incredibly honest nonetheless, “Happy Easter.”

 

One of Castiel's favorite things is falling asleep next to Dean. He can feel the other man's heart beating gently and the soft rhythm of his breathing against his neck. It reminds him of flying, back when he had wings. It's decidedly better than flying, and Castiel is grateful that he has Dean as his wings now, instead.

 

Castiel falls asleep smiling.

 

 

 


	9. Hey, Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous porn, plain and simple. Dean finds out that Cas is actually a kinky son of a bitch... and that apparently works well with romance. No one ever said they were a conventional couple.

Dean wakes up on a particularly bright Thursday morning to Cas straddling his waist and leaning over him, eyes dark and blue and intense as ever. It’s a very interesting image to wake up to, and in Dean’s groggy, half-asleep state, he’s not sure how to react.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he says tiredly, pressing a palm to his eyes to rub them awake. Cas responds with an oh-so-subtle downward push of his hips. Dean’s still half-unconscious, so he’s only vaguely aware of what’s going on.

“Hello, Dean,” he replies – and seriously, that tone of voice is  _extra_  sinful this early in the morning. “Wake up.”

“Cas, ‘m tired,” Dean says, pulling the pillow over his face. Cas yanks it off and tosses it aside.

“Dean.”

_“Wha-at?”_  Dean whines, opening bright green eyes to pout at his angel. Cas leans forward and lays against Dean’s chest, bringing his lips to Dean’s ear. The very feel of his breath alone is enough to wake Dean up by degrees.

“I’d like to sleep with you,” Cas growls in his ear and Dean is suddenly very, very awake.

“Christ, Cas,” Dean breathes, voice already hitching, “morning wood, much?”

“I was dreaming about you,” Cas says, ignoring what was probably a term he’s not familiar with, “Couldn’t wait to wake up and feel you, Dean.” And – and holy  _shit_ , but Dean’s awkward nerd angel is seriously  _dirty talking_  right in his ear. Dean’s pretty sure Cas doesn’t even know that’s what he’s doing. That makes it even hotter – the fact that Cas is just  _talking_ , saying what’s really on his mind. Dean suddenly feels way too warm.

“Yeah?” Dean answers stupidly, ‘cause he’s still a little taken aback by the fact that he woke up with a lap full of angel eager to screw him.

“Yes. You were moaning. Saying my name. I wished to hear the real thing.”

“That so?” Dean manages to croak out, because his throat suddenly feels very, very dry. Then Cas licks into his mouth insistently, biting and tugging at Dean’s bottom lip until it’s wet and swollen. Dean kisses back eagerly, slides a hand up and down Cas’ bare back.

“My morning breath not bothering you?” Dean asks with a little smirk. Cas shakes his head.

“I love your mouth, Dean,” Cas says against his lips, “I love how you taste. I’ll always love how you taste.”

Well  _shit_ , if this awkward dirty talk thing isn’t going straight to Dean’s dick.

“What else did you dream?” Dean says, mostly just to keep Cas talking because it’s seriously doing it for him.

“I dreamt you were inside me,” Cas whispers. “I think I would like that.”

“Well, fuck,” Dean says, because this sounds like an awesome idea. So far, Dean’s been more than content to let Cas fuck his brains out again and again because the guy is  _so damn good at it_. For someone so recently deflowered, Cas caught on quick and seems to have some otherworldly knowledge of just about everything that can make Dean crazy with want. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if some of Cas’ angel mojo stuck around for the sole reason of being able to screw Dean senseless. It’s not that Cas has any real finesse, really – the guy is very obviously still learning, still awkward and unpracticed – but Cas knows him  _inside and out_ , and Dean’s been more than happy to bottom and benefit from that fact. Hell, topping hasn’t even  _occurred_  to him until now, which is saying something. Now that Cas mentions it, though, the idea of being able to pound into his boyfriend has Dean’s blood running hot as hell.

“That is the idea, yes,” Cas replies with a low chuckle, and Dean smirks because he’s pretty sure he taught Cas that cheeky comeback. Cas kisses him then, deep and dirty and promising all sorts of things. Dean’s dick is going concrete, fast.

“What else?” Dean prompts as Cas runs fingers through his hair, tugging lightly every now and then. Cas looks inexplicably shy for a minute, and Dean’s curiosity is piqued. What the hell is  _this_  look about? Dean’s more excited than he ought to be.

“Cas? Tell me.”

Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s jaw. “Humanity is strange. I don’t understand why this body desires the things that it desires. I – I dreamt that you bound my wrists to the headboard,” Cas says, and his voice is so quiet on the last sentence that it’s scarcely audible. He lays his cheek against Dean’s, and Dean can feel his angel’s face burning hot beneath his scruff with what is probably blush. Dean sucks in a deep breath of air because holy  _shit_.

“You – you want me to tie you up and  _fuck you_  into the mattress, Cas? That what you want?” he says, and his voice is embarrassingly breathy and shallow considering how little touching they’re doing. Cas shuts his eyes, clearly embarrassed of himself.

“It was a foolish dream,” Cas says meekly, and – and Jesus Christ, Dean’s already coming apart at the mental image alone and Cas is  _ashamed_  for some reason.

“God, Cas, you kinky son of a bitch,” Dean says, and his voice is shaky and has something like awe in it. Dean tilts his head so he can kiss Cas heatedly, trying to assure him that  _holy fuck yes, this is a very good idea_.

“Kinky?” Cas asks, seemingly dropping a little of his apprehension in light of Dean’s enthusiastic kisses. Dean gently moves Cas off his body and gets out of bed, looking around the room.

“Dean?”

“Do we have any rope?” Dean turns to look at Cas, and even from where he’s standing he can see the way Cas’ eyes darken and how he swallows hard.

“Yes. When we moved the couch in, we secured it to the truck with rope – ”

“Where?”

Cas clears his throat like he’s trying to keep it together, and his voice breaks the tiniest bit when he replies. “Hallway closet.”

Dean finds it in a flash, tugging it from the top shelf where it’s sitting. The rope is a little coarser than he would have liked and he frowns at it as he walks past. Cas is looking at him like he’s seen the face of God or something.

“Cas, man, this rope is gonna burn your wrists a little. Maybe…”

“No, Dean, I don’t care. I want it. Please. The marks… I want everyone to see who I belong to.”

Well, shit, if that isn’t the biggest turn on in the goddamn world. Dean thinks he should ask again, insist, but Cas is so damn eager and seriously, Cas can’t exactly go around saying shit like that without expecting to follow through. And Dean can’t expect himself to double check when Cas looks so hot for it, like the idea of some light wrist burns has him going a little crazy inside. Dean wants to make him crazy, push him over the edge. If tying him up will do it for him… well, it’ll do it for them both, and Dean’s sure as hell not going to hesitate another second.

“Get on your back, Cas,” Dean instructs, and Cas complies immediately. He reaches his hands up to the bars of their headboard and Dean crawls over him quickly, tying up Cas’ wrists. Cas gives a soft little exhale like he’s been holding his breath, and Dean feels a little dizzy with want. When Dean’s done tying, Cas gives an experimental tug on the ropes. They barely budge, and something comes alive in Cas’ eyes.

“Gonna make you feel so good, Cas,” Dean says, aware that he sounds kind of dumb – but really, whatever, it’s not like Cas has any basis of comparison. “So fucking good.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas rasps, meeting Dean’s eyes with that intense eye-fucking thing that he does. Dean kisses him, tongue probing the inside of his mouth, and Cas’ eyes flicker shut and a tiny noise like a stunted moan escapes his mouth between kisses. He arches up ever so slightly, putting pressure against Dean’s groin and making his breath hitch. He vaguely wonders why he waited so goddamn long in introducing the wonders of sex to Cas.

“Let’s try something new,” Dean says, like they aren’t already going through a list of new  _everything_  this morning. He moves down the length of Cas’ body til his mouth is hovering just above the edges of Cas’ boxers.  Dean hears the thump of the headboard against the wall – Cas is straining against his ropes, making the headboard move back and forth loudly. Dean looks up at him and grins wickedly, savoring the desperation he sees on Cas’ face.

“Dean, Dean – ” Cas rasps, feet losing placement on the bed again and again as he struggles to keep himself still. Dean chuckles, sounding dark and more dirty than intended.

“Like that idea?” he asks, and Cas nods vigorously. Dean presses a kiss to the band of Cas’ boxers and Cas makes a very satisfying mewling noise. Dean shakes his head. “You gotta do more than that, baby, you gotta  _tell_  me. I wanna  _hear_  you.”

“Not a baby, Dean,” Cas interjects, though the retort is so broken with want that it’s not very intimidating. Cas is not a fan of pet names that don’t make sense to him, like ‘sugar’ and ‘baby’, and Dean has an unfortunate habit of using them all the time during sex. Cas never fails to correct him, though, even if he’s in the middle of half-begging or something.

Dean pushes Cas’ boxers down marginally, just enough to get Cas’ full attention, and sucks a hickey to the skin above the hem of the fabric. Again the headboard loudly makes its presence known and Cas’ legs shake.

“Dean, please,” Cas says, and his voice is a quiet, reverent  _growl_.

 “Hmm? Please  _what_?” Dean asks, biting the sensitive skin where he just left a hickey that’s already bruising beautifully.

“Please – Dean, stop this, this isn’t f–“

“Stop?” Dean asks innocently, starting to move away. Cas’ whimper is practically heartbreaking.

“ _Dean_.”

“Talk to me, Cas,” Dean says, placing his thumbs on Cas’ hips and rubbing circles. Cas breathes hard, but all else is quiet for a moment.

“I want you to – to, um,” Cas sounds awkward, like he’s not even entirely sure of the wording for what he wants to happen. Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to end up with something like ‘let us engage in oral sex’ or something to that effect, but if it’s coming out of Cas’ mouth Dean’s pretty sure it’ll do it for him. This expectation is why he’s surprised when Cas says, “I want you to suck me off.”

… Well, shit.

Dean grins, utterly, shamelessly dirty, and looks up at Cas with lust-blown pupils. Cas groans and his hips thrust forward just the slightest bit.

“Dean – Dean, please, I want… I want your mouth on me, please. I want to feel you.”

“Keep talking, sugar,” Dean says, and Cas scowls at the pet name. Dean makes amends by licking into Cas’ navel and then catching the skin there between his teeth. The noise Cas makes is shaky and borderline desperate.

“ _Suck me off, Dean,”_  Cas growls, and this time when he bucks forward he’s not so subtle. Dean chuckles.

“You’re the one tied up, Cas. You’re not giving the orders here. I want you to beg for it.”

“Dean – this isn’t funny, Dean, I can’t – ”

“Beg, Cas.”

Cas heaves a deep sigh and then mewls abruptly when Dean drags nails down the backs of his thighs.

“Please,” Cas whispers, “Please, Dean, I need you.”

“Can’t hear you,” Dean says, though he knows he’s about to cave. Cas’ voice is gravelly and broken and Dean’s going a little crazy at the sound of it. He nuzzles into Cas’ crotch.

“ _Please,”_  Cas says – and this time it’s a moan, uncharacteristically loud and breathy and needy and Dean can’t ask for any more than that. He yanks Cas’ boxers down properly and Cas’ hips shake and his breathing picks up even more. His cheeks are flushed and his skin is warm and the heat in Dean’s lower stomach feels like it might burn right through him. He takes Cas’ cock in one hand and rubs his thumb over the head, watching Cas intently as the other man’s eyes flicker shut and he gasps, loud and sharp, and his hips thrust forward. Dean braces Cas’ hips with one forearm, holding him down.

Then, he takes Cas into his mouth.

Neither Cas nor Dean are  _terribly_  vocal in bed – mostly hitched, spastic, erratic breathing, normally – but Cas’ sudden moan right now is big and loud and shameless. Dean thinks vaguely of the neighbors because their flat is a townhouse, after all, and their kitchen wall is connected to another house’s kitchen wall. He’s not sure if Cas’ voice reaches that far, but Dean seriously doesn’t doubt it. Cas arches upward, feet pressed against the bed and even after his moan fades out, his mouth forms an ‘o’ and all coherency is lost. His wrists strain against the ropes and Dean’s certain there will be angry red marks by the time they’re through.

Needless to say, Dean feels pretty fucking proud.

Dean’s not exactly the king of blowjobs – he’s out of practice, it’s been a long damn time – but Cas’ reactions are so intense that he momentarily feels like a friggin porn star or something. His cheeks hollow out and his head bobs and Cas’ eyes are shut tight. Cas has never been sucked off before, so he doesn’t know that the way he’s thrusting his hips forward is just shy of gagging Dean. But Dean – Dean just takes it, because holy  _fuck_  does it feel good to know how undone he’s making Cas.

And then he stops, abruptly, and Cas lets out a sharp mewl and then he’s glaring at Dean.

“Dean, why – ”

“Don’t wanna end this too soon,” Dean says, and he sucks a hickey to Cas’ thigh. The headboard hits against the wall because of how fiercely Cas is pulling against his restraints.

“Dean – Dean, please,” Cas begs, and Dean shivers. He really, really likes it when Cas begs. He sounds desperate, too, and he knows there isn’t a single bit of this that’s faked. He really  _does_ need Dean so much that he’s willing to plea. Goosebumps are all over Dean’s skin despite how hot he is, how sweat is covering his body.

“Love the way you say please, Cas,” Dean says as he bites all over the other thigh, tantalizingly close to Cas’ dick, “like you gotta have it, need it – ”  

“I  _do_ need it,” Cas hisses, and he wraps his legs around Dean’s torso in a way that’s borderline aggressive and really, really hot.

“Not gonna let you come, Cas, not yet,” Dean says – and yeah, the fact that Cas is all tied up and can only beg and writhe and cry out is more of a turn-on than Dean expected it’d be. Because, Jesus  _Christ,_  Cas’ hair is a mess and his face is flushed and he’s powerless… but in a good way, in a way that Cas wanted. For a moment Dean revels in how willing Cas is to be vulnerable with Dean, how much he trusts him.

Then Cas starts repeating Dean’s name like a chant or a prayer and using his legs to push him down, and Dean’s brought back to the present.

“Not yet, Cas,” Dean says, “want you to come when I do. Want you to feel everything I’m feeling.” And Dean’s surprised that this comes out in a whisper, and his heart is doing something weird and he knows this isn’t just sexual – he wants them to share this because he wants to connect with Cas as deeply as he can. He wants to go over the edge together.

Cas slams his head against the pillow and loosens his legs’ grip just slightly.

“Trust you, Dean,” he says, and his tone has fallen to the quiet one Dean’s has, even if it’s broken up by ragged breathing. “Do whatever you want with me, I want it – need you, Dean, please.”

Dean moves up Cas’ body to kiss him, slow but deep, tongues tangling warmly and sensually. He feels noises rumbling in Cas’ throat, moans Dean is swallowing up with his mouth. It’s, to say the least, incredibly hot.

“Hold on,” Dean says, and takes a moment to slip a hand over the edge of the bed and under it, rummaging blindly for the lube they keep there permanently. He finally grabs hold of it and coats his fingers with it. Cas’ eyes are wide as he watches Dean.

“Is it going to hurt?” Cas asks suddenly, and averts his eyes like he’s suddenly shy. Which is seriously adorable.

… God, since when has Dean ever thought of ‘adorable’ and ‘sex’ in the same context?

“Not too much, I got you,” Dean reassures him, kissing his temple. “Your body knows mine.”

Cas nods fervently.

“It would be okay – if it did hurt. I don’t mind.”

Dean glances at Cas’ wrists, all red and chafing, and he’s pretty sure Cas isn’t kidding. So Cas likes it rough when he’s bottoming, apparently. It’s usually slow and smooth when Cas is on top, sensual and goddamn romantic. Yet there’s something romantic about this, too, despite how different it is. It finally hits him that no matter what he does with Cas, that feeling will be there.

He likes that idea.

Dean tentatively slips a slicked up finger into Cas and Cas sighs heavily. Dean freezes a moment, lets Cas adjust to the new sensation before Cas nods his permission to move on, add more fingers. Dean’s incredibly careful and Cas is lying flat against the bed, chest heaving, hips stuttering slightly forward every now and then.

Finally Dean deems Cas ready and he pulls Cas’ legs around his waist – Cas gets the picture and grips tight with them. Dean closes his eyes a moment and then opens them to find Cas’ blue eyes looking straight up at him. The sunlight from outside lights up Cas’ features and the lust in his eyes is so evident that Dean surges forward, entering Cas with a swift movement.

He waits – or tries to wait, but Cas writhes against his restraints and hits the headboard against the wall and growls, “ _Move, Dean,”_  and Dean figures Cas has all the prep he needs. He rocks his hips forward, slowly at first, but then carries on with a faster rhythm when he sees how blissfully Cas is responding.

Dean can tell when he hits Cas’ prostrate by the way his whole body freezes up and his breath hitches and his body arches up and it’s one of the greatest sights Dean’s ever seen. Pleased that he’s found it, Dean hits it again and again at Cas’ insistent urges of  _harder, please_  and  _Dean, faster_  and other whimpers. Cas  _seriously_  likes it rough. Dean’s thinking he might need to take up running or something if him topping Cas is gonna be a recurring thing, because this is a damn workout. The headboard is beating against the wall again and again and this kind of sex is a completely new thing entirely.

“Dean, I’m going to – ”

Dean shakes his head vigorously.

“Not yet, angel, stay with me,” he says hoarsely, because he can feel release warm in his own lower stomach and he knows he’s close. He wants to come with Cas. In the (very, very) back of his mind, he notes that ‘angel’ is one pet name Cas seems to be okay with.

Cas gasps and gasps and tries to nod stiffly. Dean commends his effort.

Then Dean can’t talk anymore, can’t control his breathing, is essentially powerless to what his body is doing. In a quick movement, he grabs Cas’ cock and gives it a couple pumps, just to be sure – and that’s it, that’s all he needed.

Mission accomplished; Dean’s body shudders out one hell of an orgasm and Cas arches up below him with something just as strong. It’s sticky and gross and fucking amazing. Dean pulls out and then collapses on Cas in a heap. He reaches up and unties Cas’ wrists, with some difficulty because he’s so damn tired all of the sudden, and Cas is finally able to touch Dean. And he does it like he’s been starving for it, roaming his hands all over, over Dean’s chest and his back and the back of his neck. He brings his palm to Dean’s cheek and kisses him before he presses his sweaty forehead against Dean’s.

“That was much better than my dream,” Cas says after his breath has steadied a bit. Dean laughs.

“Well, good,” he says, and he realizes his voice is hoarse as hell from the essential mouth fucking during Cas’ blow job. He kinda likes it, for whatever reason. “If it wasn’t, I’d have to kick my dream self in the ass.”

Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ waist and tugs him close. Come is gross and sticky between them but the afterglow is so intense that he barely notices.

“Hey Cas?” he says eventually. Cas lifts his head weakly and looks at him.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Let’s save this shit for special occasions. Cause that was…” Dean doesn’t know how to say ‘almost over the top’ without sounding like a dick.

Cas gets it, though. “Agreed.”

Dean tucks his head below Cas’ chin and gives soft kisses to his throat before he finally falls asleep, lips pressed to Cas’ skin.

… and nasty come is stuck between their bodies, but really – who cares?

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Birthdays Are Holidays, Too, Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sam's birthday and Cas is determined to put as much enthusiasm into it as he does every other holiday of the year. The whole deal is big on nostalgia and chick flick brother moments, courtesy of Cas. And, aside from the festivies, Dean and Cas make a (tiny) new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit that there is a fair amount of shameless self indulgence because I used to live about 15 minutes from Philadelphia. You'll know what I mean soon enough. Also - I completely forgot about Sunshine (sorry!) and changed a detail about where Sam and Sarah live. I switched them from Indiana to New York because I realized the commute would be a bitch. Also: THE TOKEN SWEATER ISN'T UGLY! There's a first for everything. Anyways, enjoy!

"I don't think this swing can support our combined weight, Dean."

  
Dean and Castiel are in a playground. It's dusk; the sky is blushing a soft and lovely pink, as though the premature moon has been complimenting it. Castiel looks nice in the warm light, though Dean thinks the repeated surges of love pulsing through his body - and Castiel's, too, he's sure - may be making him biased. The weather is as perfect as everything else about this moment. Trees around them are blossoming with tiny white and pink buds, and the whole air smells of spring.  
  
Castiel is sitting on a swing and Dean his straddling his lap, pressing his forehead against Dean’s been kissing him periodically, more often than not. This is Castiel's first time on a swing. Dean had been appalled when he discovered Cas has never swung before, and had driven them both to the nearest playground immediately upon receiving this information. The concept of swinging had been foreign to Cas and he started out flailing back and forth on his own. Dean had eventually caved (out of pity, mostly), and pushed his angel on the swing. He'd tried the whole while not to fixate on how impossibly  _girly_  it was, how sickeningly sappy... but Cas seemed pleased, and it was enough to distract Dean from his embarrassment. The park is mostly empty, anyway.   
  
After a while, the desire to hold his boyfriend became overwhelming. Which is where he is now - sitting on the swing with him, straddling his lap so they can comfortably share it. Cas is propelling them gently back and forth with his feet pushing against the ground. Their position looks a little incriminating, but they're being mostly innocent. Besides, no one's around to see.  
  
"We're fine, Cas," Dean assures him, despite how the swing is creaking suspiciously every time it moves back and forth.   
  
"Hmm," Cas replies, clearly not believing his boyfriend.  
  
"Trust me," Dean says with a grin, and kisses Cas' nose. Jesus  _Christ_ , Cas has turned into such a girl.  
  
It's been even worse since they finally... consummated their love, or whatever it's supposed to be called. Now, Dean's all over Cas all the time. He's always touching him, now, always kissing him. It's like the afterglow never wore off. Cas is still a little more reserved, but he always seems pleased with the attention.  
  
"I trust you. I do not trust the swing. It is clearly very old."  
  
"It's fine," Dean says dismissively, and Cas huffs a sigh. They're quiet for a long while after that, just gently swinging back and forth and enjoying a comfortable silence.   
  
"It's almost Sam's birthday," Cas says after a while.   
  
"Yeah. We inviting him over for cake and ice cream?"  
  
Cas frowns a little at that.  
  
"No. I was picturing something a little more... festive."  
  
Dean laughs.  
  
"Are you gonna go all holiday over Sam's birthday? 'Cause birthdays aren't really as big a deal, Cas. Sam will be happy with some cake and a present."  
  
Cas wrinkles his brow and looks visibly annoyed.  
  
"I see no difference. I am very grateful that Sam was born. He deserves to be celebrated."  
  
Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
"I'm pretty sure you're just a holiday junkie, Cas."  
  
"Regardless, we must plan something worthy of commemorating your brother's birth."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, we'll do something big. Any ideas?"

"I was hoping you might have some."  
  
"Me? You're the get-together planning guy."  
  
Cas sighs.  
  
"I enjoy being able to create what you and Sam were unable to have as children. Like proper holidays, for instance. And now, Sam's birthday. What's something that Sam would have liked for his birthday as a child?"  
  
Dean is quiet for a moment, because he never thought about it like that. That Cas might love organizing holiday things because Dean and Sam never had them growing up. That Cas had even  _thought_  of it that way. It makes Dean feel warm all over.  
  
"You gotta give me a sec on that one," Dean says, "It's been a while since we were that young."  
  
Cas nods.  
  
"We have several days."  
  
Just then, Dean catches sight of something out of the corner of his eyes. He turns around quickly, instincts on autopilot after so many years of learning that something sneaking up on him is rarely a good thing. It's not a Supernatural creature, though - it's a little girl. She bursts into giggles when she makes eye contact with Dean. She looks all of five years old. She keeps staring longer than is comfortable, and Dean feels compelled to say something.  
  
"Uh, can we help you somehow, little girl?" he asks, turning in Cas' lap to face her properly.  
  
She starts giggling again and nods her head.  
  
"Are you two daddies?" she asks, and Dean is taken aback by the question.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you two daddies? 'Cause my friend Marcel, she has two daddies and they always take us out for ice cream with rainbow sprinkles sometimes 'cause it matches their flag and they're really nice and maybe if you're two daddies, you can buy me ice cream, too?"  
  
Dean laughs at the little kid's logic and shakes his head.  
  
"Sorry, kiddo. We'd need our own kids to be dads, and we don't have any."  
  
The little girl looks thoughtful, as though this has never occurred to her before.   
  
"Can you push me on the swing?" she asks abruptly. Dean looks skeptical. All the while, Cas has his brow furrowed, as though communicating with a small child is a daunting feat and they're talking to some foreigner who barely speaks English.  
  
"Um. Is your mom or dad around here somewhere?" Dean asks dubiously. The little girl nods and points in the direction of the parking lot.  
  
"She's on the phone 'cause she's got messages. She can see me from here." Sure enough, a woman is in the parking lot facing them, leaning against the car with a cell phone to her ear. The little girl flashes the woman a thumbs up, and the woman returns the gesture with a smile.  
  
"Er - sure, why the hell not?" he says with a shrug, and clambers off of Cas. 

Dean helps the girl into a swing (she insists she’s too big for the harness ones) and tentatively pushes her. She giggles with delight –  _again_  – and urges Dean to push harder. Dean complies, swinging her higher and higher until Cas says sternly, “Careful, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes – something he does habitually around Cas.

“Lighten up,” Dean says, and the girl chimes in with her assent.

“What’s your name, kid?” Dean asks her after a while of swinging.

“Lyric,” she responds, smiling brightly as though this question always pleases her to answer.

“I’m Dean and this is my – this is my boyfriend, Cas.” This is the first time Dean has introduced Cas this way, and he finds that he likes it, even if the word feels strange on his tongue.

“Salutations,” Cas says, and Lyric laughs. She laughs  _a lot_ , apparently.

“You talk funny,” she informs Cas, and he wrinkles his brow in confusion. It occurs to Dean that Cas has probably never thought of this before.

The girl’s mother is off the phone now, Dean notices, and is walking toward them.

“Thank you,” the woman says warmly when she arrives, and Dean grins. “She would have been whining at me if not for you.”

“What can I say? I have a soft spot for the little ones.”

 And it’s true; he does. Little kids remind him of when Sam was young and needed him. Sam was cute, then, brimming with questions and enthusiasm. He’d been a chubby little thing until early middle school, and Dean used to dote on him in as manly a way as possible. Little kids remind Dean of a time when everything was simpler – a time before the apocalypse and Lucifer and dick angels. They were just two kids from a broken home, but it wasn’t so bad. Not as bad as it got, anyway.

“You were on the phone too long,” Lyric pouts. Her mother sighs wearily. Dean notices that the woman looks very tired, though she’s actually quite beautiful. Hear appearance practically screams ‘single mom.’ He’s vaguely aware that if he didn’t have Cas, he’d probably be hitting on her by now.

“I’m sorry, honey. But you know Mommy’s trying to find a babysitter for you…” She notices Dean’s curious look. “Lyric’s daycare is closing down. I’ve got about a week to find her a full time sitter or I’m hosed. I’ve gotten about three calls about my online listing, but we’re so close to Philadelphia… they all sound like creeps.” She shudders.

Dean exchanges a long look with Cas – a silent conversation. They do this a lot. These looks that speak without words feel almost telepathic, sometimes. Dean often wonders if it’s a hell thing, if it has to do with the fact that Cas pulled his soul from the deepest corners of hell with his bare hands. He thinks it might.

Cas nods subtly and Dean gets his answer.

“Hey, if you don’t end up finding your babysitter in a week, we’d be glad to watch her until you do. She seems to like me anyway. Can’t say I blame her, I’m kind of a stud.”

“They’re boyfriends, mommy!” Lyric exclaims enthusiastically, “Maybe they’ll take me for ice cream?”

Lyric’s mother rolls her eyes. “She’s got a fascination with gay… everything, lately; you’ll have to excuse her. But I might just take you two up on that offer. You seem much more competent than anyone on the phone calls I’ve gotten. And, you’re right, she  _does_ like you. Which is quite a feat.”

She digs into her pocket and pulls out a pen and an old receipt and hands it to Dean, who writes down his number.

“Hit us up in a week,” Dean says with a smile. The little girl hops up and down excitedly.

“Will do. Thank you.”

Dean and Cas leave soon after that because Dean’s stomach has started audibly making its emptiness noticed. They drive to their regular diner, and the whole time, Dean can’t shut up about how cute the little girl is.

*

“We haven’t gone hunting in a couple days. I don’t like it.”

Dean and Cas are in their flat playing Twister. Their bodies are contorted to the point where it’s a struggle to actually reach and spin the arrow that dictates where to move next. Dean is painfully aware of the fact that one of Cas’ legs is in between both of his. He’s kind of hoping this little game ends up with sex – hell, if he’s honest with himself, he actually purchased it with sex in mind.

“You’re restless,” Cas says, and it’s a statement rather than a question. Dean spins the arrow and scowls when he sees how far his left leg is expected to go.

“Yeah. I don’t like knowing that that there’re evil sons of bitches out there and I’m not out there killing them.”

Cas smiles fondly.

“Always the hero complex,” he says.

“What, you don’t like saving people?

“I’m happy whenever you are happy, Dean.”

“Huh.” Dean focuses intently on inching his leg forward, trying to reach the intended spot, in hopes that Cas might pay attention to that and not the blush creeping onto his face.

Cas spins the arrow and sighs at the nearly impossible position he’s been issued. He reaches an arm over Dean’s back to try and reach the spot, but he’s simply not long enough to reach it. The arm not reaching buckles under his weight and he falls on Dean. Their limbs end up tangled up on the floor and Dean groans.

“I’m too old for this,” he announces. Cas chuckles. Cas laughing is  _still_  a weird sound. Dean wonders if it’ll ever not be weird.

“Besides, the whole ‘credit card fraud’ thing actually starts to make me feel bad if I’m not hunting,” Dean says thoughtfully after they’ve been laying there a while. It’s not exactly comfortable, but Dean likes the way Cas is carding his hands through his hair and he doesn’t want to get up.

“Doing good makes you feel justified?”

“Well, yeah. If I’m saving people, the fraud thing is just… a paycheck.”

“Dean, this is sounding like you may be developing a conscience. Should I be concerned?”

Dean shoves him playfully. “Oh, shut up.”

“Perhaps you could teach me to play pool,” Cas suggests, “between the two of us on a regular basis, we could likely support ourselves.”

Dean snorts. “Not well, dude. It’s not exactly a dependable income. I don’t wanna lose our flat if we happen to have a couple of bad games in a row.”

Cas nods. “We could always find jobs like normal civilians.

Dean laughs at that. “When have we ever come close to normal civilians? The simple solution is to just get off our asses and hunt more.”

Cas smiles and rolls his eyes – another surreally human gesture. “If it will sate your conscience. Perhaps we can take a week to travel around the tri-state area and do that?”

Dean contemplates this a moment. “Can’t say I miss the motels, but you might have an idea there.”

Cas kisses him then, and Dean closes his eyes, and deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue easily between Cas’ lips.

“Gotta admit, Cas, I had ulterior motives for getting Twister.”

“I assumed as much.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, wondering whether he’s become completely transparent or if Cas can just read him like a book. He’s not sure which thought scares him more.

“So… wanna have sex?”

“That sounds appealing. Though you realize you’ll miss the Phillies game?”

Dean’s eyes dart to the TV, then back to Cas. He’s taken up watching baseball lately. Their local major league team is actually pretty badass. He hasn’t had time to watch baseball since he was a kid and he finds he really enjoys the nostalgia of it.

“I’ll get over it,” he decides, pushing a thigh up between Cas’ legs. Cas’ eyes flutter shut.

“You’re wearing far too much clothing,” Cas informs Dean in a low growl.

“You’re damn right about that,” Dean agrees. Then there are lips crashing and fingers fumbling and quiet, breathy noises and yet again, Dean marvels at the amazing course his life has taken.

*

They catch the tail end of the ninth inning – the game ran long, thankfully – and suddenly Dean has an idea.

“Dude. Baseball.”

Dean looks at Dean and tilts his head in confusion.

“Yes, Dean. This is baseball.”

“Well – no shit, Sherlock, of course it is. Not what I was getting at. Sammy’s birthday, man. Let’s take him to a real major league ball game. The Phillies are playing a home game on Wednesday. He was always bugging Dad to take him as a kid. He always wanted to play little league, too, but we moved around too much. We’ve never been to a real game before. He’ll love it.”

Cas’ eyes light up.

“Dean, that’s perfect. I had my own idea, as well. I thought, perhaps, we could have a barbecue? By the lake, a couple miles from here. I presume you’ve never done anything like that before, either?”

Dean grins. “Sure haven’t.”

“Then it’s settled.”

The game ends about 15 minutes later and Dean starts nuzzling at Cas neck, kissing it every now and then.

“Is it too soon for more sex?” he asks in his boyfriend’s ear. Cas shudders.

“Your constant libido is flattering, Dean,” Cas replies, “but I think you’re overestimating either of our recovery times. Later.”

“Erghh,” is Dean’s reply with an agitated sigh. “Well. How about pie?”

Cas kisses Dean softly on the lips and nods. “I will bake pie. We will have sex afterwards.”

“Fuck yes.”

*

Naturally, Cas plans out everything. They decide early on that it should be a secret. Of course, Sam knows they’re inviting him down for his birthday, but he doesn’t know everything they have planned for him. Sarah is in on the surprise and has been sworn to secrecy. The days leading up to Sam’s birthday are filled with a sort of anxious excitement. Dean’s surprised how eagerly he’s anticipating the look on Sam’s face when he realizes cake and ice cream are not the only things on the agenda.

They spend a hell of a lot of money getting the best last minute tickets possible, and Dean shreds the card under the name “Robby Steinhardt” as soon as they’re ordered. He’s seriously considering honest methods of earning a living, but most of them include a 9 to 5 job and he seriously can’t handle that. He and Cas might have some semblance of an apple pie life – something he never in his wildest dreams thought he’d get – but there are some things he simply can’t bring himself to do. He can’t go from saving lives on a regular basis to working a cash register or tending a bar.

It doesn’t help that he knows Sam’s earning an honest living now. He works in Sarah’s father’s antique shop – that and scholarships help pay for his college classes. The damn kid’s condo is even paid off – he shares it with Sarah, and she inherited a pretty large sum from an aunt who’s even richer than Sarah’s father, about a year before Sam met Sarah again after the apocalypse. They split the bills and live comfortably. Sam doesn’t need credit card fraud and pool hustling to support himself. Dean’s very, very confused as to why he finds himself jealous about this.

He puts these thoughts out of his head as best as he can, though, because there’s nothing he can do about them.

Cas has a recipe for cake he’s been dying to try out, but Dean’s always been partial to pie and whines whenever Cas mentions baking anything else. Now, Cas is delighted to have a proper reason to give it a go. It’s chocolate mousse cake, and Dean can’t get over the pun. A mousse cake for his giant moose of a brother – it’s too fitting.

On May 2nd, Cas gets started on the cake about two hours before Sam and Sarah are supposed to show up. All the while, Dean is intent on distracting him, sliding hands over his stomach and kissing the back of his neck where he knows he’s sensitive. Cas resolutely sends him away again and again, insisting that getting caught in the middle of intercourse is no way to start Sam’s birthday.

The day is more chilly than normal for this season – much to Cas’ delight. He’s got a Phillies sweater and matching baseball cap from Dean he’d been hoping to wear, and when the weather report announced low to mid 50s, he was visibly pleased. He looks cute in it, bounding around the kitchen looking like he’s ready to play ball. Dean adds playing baseball to his mental list of things he wants to do with Cas sometime.

Dean has to admit that the smell of chocolate permeating the house is pretty enticing, and maybe this cake business may have some merit. Sam and Sarah arrive around one o’ clock. Sam’s all smiles, wearing a big grin that lights up his face. He’s exuding the same excitement Dean’s been feeling all week – and all that over what he thinks is just a small get-together and Cas and Dean’s place. Dean’s practically buzzing with how happy he is over everything they have planned.

“Happy birthday, Sam,” Cas says warmly as he lets them in.

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam goes for a hug and it’s as awkward to watch as it must be for both Sam and Cas to experience, but Dean’s happy they went for it anyway. Cas is family and everyone’s acting like it, and it makes Dean feel really, really good that Cas has been accepted so thoroughly by the people he loves. Sam’s approval means everything to him. Dean figures after the whole apocalypse bit and the falling-from-heaven thing, Sam’s got more than enough reasons to like Cas, anyway. The honest happiness Dean sees on Sam’s face – even through the awkward hug – proves how much of a Winchester Cas has become in Sam’s eyes.

“I’m very glad you were born,” Cas adds, and Sarah laughs.

“I am, too!” she agrees enthusiastically, and hugs Cas herself. Again, awkward but totally heartwarming. Dean hugs Sarah, too, and slaps his brother on the back.

“So how old are you now, Sammy? Thirty-five? Forty?” It’s only funny because Sam’s only twenty-eight and looks fairly young for a guy who went through the apocalypse and conquered Lucifer – the devil himself.

“You realize the older you make me when you joke, the older it makes you,” Sam points out, and Dean groans.

“In which case, you’re fifteen.”

Sarah shakes her head in contempt. “That would make me a creep. Let’s just stick to twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-eight it is,” Cas decides.

 “Yeah, but that still makes me old,” Dean pouts. Cas gives him a level look.

“Dean, do you realize who you’re talking to?”

Dean shuts up because, yeah, he kind of forgot his ex-angel boyfriend is like thousands of years old or something. Which – awkward.

Sam starts to take off his jacket, but stops when he realizes that Dean’s putting his on.

“Er – going somewhere, Dean?”

“Yup. And so are you. Cas, get the stuff.”

“Stuff?” Sam asks, but Dean ignores him.

“I can’t carry it all. I need your assistance,” Cas replies. Dean complies and they walk off to the kitchen, leaving Sam looking incredibly confused. The cake is all packed up and ready to go, as are the burgers and hot dogs for grilling. They’ve got two bottles of lemonade to bring, too, and have everything concealed in a bag so that the secret’s kept til the last possible moment.

Sam eyes the bag suspiciously when they leave the kitchen, and Sarah’s got a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.

“No chance you’re gonna explain right now, are you?” Sam asks.

Dean responds, “Hell no,” and Cas shakes his head solemnly.

They all pack into the Impala – Dean lets Sam drive for once and he sits shotgun. Sam plays his awful music because the law of the car says that  _driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole_ , even if said driver is not the rightful owner of the car. Besides, it’s Sam’s birthday. Sam keeps grinning as he scrolls through his iPod – the bitch had to go and bring his stupid adapter thing – and looking at Dean like’s a superhero. Dean feels like he used to when Sam was really little and he’d buy him ice cream and it was like his big brother singlehandedly lit up the sky or something.

It’s nice.

Sam’s not from the area (hell, he’s not from the  _state_ ), so he has no idea where they’re going, even as Dean gives him directions. He blindly navigates the highway and obediently takes the exit he’s directed to (though there’s a momentary argument between Dean and Sam over which exit to take, which irritates Sam to no end). They talk and talk as they drive, filling each other in on everything they’ve been missing out on. Sam talks about law school – NYU Law this time instead of Stanford, so he can be close to Dean and Sarah can be close to her family. He’s doing well, excelling in all his classes, despite the huge gap between his undergrad years and now. Dean’s not at all surprised.

Dean and Cas talk about recent hunts, all the ugly sons of bitches they’ve been ridding the world of. They discuss their vague road trip plans and Sam thinks it’s a good idea – though his reasoning is that Dean needs to “get it out of his system”, which is not what Dean meant by it at all. Dean goes on about Lyric, too, even though Sam teases him and calls him a creeper for it.

“You thinking there are kids in your future, Dean?” Sarah asks, and Dean can’t tell if she’s kidding or not. He snorts.

“No. That would interfere with my need to be able to fuck Cas whenever I please.”

Cas turns red and looks out the window intensely, scooting as close to the door as possible as though trying to disappear.

“Jesus Christ! Dean! Little brother in the car here! Not a mental image I wanted. God. You’re so graphic,” Sam exclaims dramatically.

“You’re such a prude, Sammy,” Dean says, ruffling Sam’s hair. The road they’re on has slowly become shrouded on both sides by high trees, and the light is shadowy. Even so, Dean can feel the sun through the branches – it’s warming up, big time. Dean’s found that Pennsylvania weather this close to South Jersey can only be described as “bipolar”. Its ups and downs are crazy. Cas shrugs out of his sweater to reveal a bright red Phillies t-shirt underneath.

“Make a right up here,” Dean says, indicating an upcoming turnoff. Sam does as he’s told, and only when he sees the sign reading LAKE GARRISON does realization dawn on him.

“Are we – ”

“Figured we’d take you somewhere scenic for your birthday,” Dean says with a grin and Sam looks about happy enough to burst.

“Dude – thank you, seriously, you didn’t have to…”

“This part’s all Cas, you can thank him.”

Sam swivels in his seat and turns his million dollar smile on Cas.

“Thank you, Castiel. Seriously. This… means a lot to me.”

Sam parks the car close to the water and gets out, stretching his long limbs like the ride was long, even though it was only about 30 minutes. He looks out at the water like he’s never been to a lake before or something. All Dean can see when he looks at his brother’s blatant excitement is the little kid he watched grow up without special occasions like this.

“Wish I brought my swimsuit,” he says as everyone else piles out of the car.

“Good thing I thought ahead,” Sarah responds in a singsong voice, pulling a pair out of her uncharacteristically overlarge tote bag.

“You were in on this?”

“I’m in on  _all_  of it,” she replies. The emphasis on the ‘all’ part is lost to Sam, who is busy marveling at how pretty the lake is. Dean and Cas pull all the food from the car and they trek out to the short beach and pick a picnic table to set up at.

“Remember the last lake we went to, Dean?” Sam asks as he helps unload.

“Augh, do I ever. That was the one with the creepy ghost kid who kept drowning people.” Dean shudders at the memory. That had been a particularly bad experience – a little boy had almost drowned.

“This lake looks nothing like that one,” Sam says, and it’s true. That one had been a deep, dark and ominous blackish blue. This one is nearly clear and has a small beach around it. There are people swimming and playing around the water everywhere – there’s a surprising amount for a Wednesday afternoon.

“Yeah, we made sure of that,” Dean says, and Sam smiles appreciatively.

“I’m really glad we can overwrite all these bad memories you two have with good ones,” Sarah remarks. “It’s about time you guys have some decent times to weigh up against the bad ones.”

 

“You said it,” Dean agrees, and Cas nods.

“You’ve both more than earned it,” he says. Sam and Dean both look uncomfortable, like Sam is just as unsure what to do with these compliments as Dean is.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam whines after a beat, tugging on his brother’s arm and glancing at the lake.  “Let’s go swim.

Dean rolls his eyes because, serious, when did Sam switch into little kid mode? Not that Dean’s complaining – he likes seeing this side of his brother. He hasn’t seen it since Stanford. Maybe even before that. Unfortunately, Dean has to set up the barbecue.

“Sorry bro, I’ve got a grill to light up. Take Cas instead.”

Cas looks alarmed, as though this is the first time he’s considered the idea that he might actually have to get in the water. Dean snickers at him.

“I will take over the barbecue, Dean. Go swim with Sam, it is his birthday. I will… join you later.” Dean seriously doubts that, and he frowns at Cas.

“No way, man. Dinner and baking and all that… kitchen stuff, that’s all you. But I’m pretty sure the grill is my division.”

Sam’s mouth makes an  _O_  shape and he covers his mouth with a fist, presumably to keep from laughing. Sarah’s eyebrows raise. Cas, on the other hand, is glowering fiercely – and the look is pure  _angel_ , all wrath and cosmic power, despite his humanity and Dean feels chills even though the sun is hot against his back. He takes a slight, subconscious step backward.

“Uh – did I miss something here?” he asks, laughing awkwardly. Cas takes a step forward, getting in Dean’s personal space in a way that is decidedly menacing. Dean swallows.

“If you ever compare me to a housewife again, Dean, I will cause you bodily harm,” Cas hisses.

Sam’s expression is very much that of a teenage girl looking both pleased and scandalized over a juicy piece of gossip. Sarah’s smile is twitching at the edges of her lips like she’s fighting it with all she’s worth. Dean, for the most part, is slightly terrified.

“Yes sir,” he mutters automatically – and he’s not being facetious, either. It just feels like the only possible response he can give.

“Good,” Cas replies, “Now go swim with Sam.”

Dean wrinkles his brow and says nothing else, just pulls off his shirt and tugs off his jeans – he has swimming trunks concealed underneath – and treks off toward the water. Sam follows after, making a whipping gesture (and corresponding sound effects) and laughing at his big brother’s expense.  Dean shoves him so hard he nearly falls over into the sand, and they end up shoving each other until they make it knee deep into the water – at which point Sarah pushes them both into the water with a colossal splash.

*

Cas grills as well as he cooks – which is to say, friggin badass. He puts at least half the burger joint Dean has been to in his life to shame. Apparently Cas had some sort of recipe up his sleeve, because the seasoning on them is mouth-watering. Cas looks incredibly pleased with the blissful looks on everyone’s faces as they dig in. He also looks… something  _else_  when Dean makes borderline-explicit noises – mostly throaty  _“mhh!”_ s with closed eyes – every time he takes a bite.

Dean may or may not be eating his hot dog after in an intentionally dirty matter once he realizes Cas’ subtle reactions to his noises. He’s being stealthy, though, careful only to venture into sinful gestures when Sam’s distracted by other things. Cas’ hand is gripping the edge of the picnic table to the point where his knuckles are white. Dean feels very accomplished.

“Stop,” Cas hisses, and Dean flashes him an innocent smile.

“Stop what, Cas?”

Cas only makes a nearly inaudible grown in the back of his throat in response.

Cake follows the food and Sam and Sarah look visibly impressed by the culinary masterpiece Cas pulls out of the cooler. Naturally, everyone agrees that they should sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Sam, much to his valiant protests. They ignore him and sing – they even light candles, which he refuses to blow out – and Sam is practically red with how embarrassed he is. He  _does_  blow out the candles, though, to his credit. Dean successfully fights the desire to push his brother’s face into the cake, if only because the cake is so damn pretty. 

At Sarah’s insistence, they wait a while after eating before getting back into the water. Sam lies in the sand and promptly falls asleep. Dean and Sarah wait until he starts snoring before they bury him deep in the sand. He wakes up 20 minutes later to sand everywhere – in his shorts, in his hair, coating every inch of his body. He glares at Dean and Sarah ruefully.

“This is how you treat me on my birthday?” he groans, sitting up and shaking the sand from his body. He whips his hair like a L’Oreal commercial, sans the model smile. His hair does kinda shine in the sun like a perfectly lighted advert, though. Figures.

“My duty as a big brother doesn’t take a day off, Sammy,” Dean says.

“Likewise,” Sarah agrees, “’snarky fiancée’ doesn’t have an off switch.”

“At least  _Cas_  is loyal,” Sam grumbles, shooting Cas a grateful look.

“Of course.” Cas nods.

“We’re getting back in the water,” Sam announces decidedly.

“Fine by me,” Dean agrees, standing from the picnic table and stretching. Cas stays where he’s sitting, though. Dean looks at him skeptically.  
  
“You coming?” he asks.  
  
Cas stares studiously at his hands.  
  
“No.”  
  
“What the hell, Cas? This whole thing was your idea. Why the hell wouldn’t you go?”  
  
“I chose this because I believed Sam would enjoy it. But… I don’t know how to swim, Dean. I’ve never had occasion.”   
  
Understanding dawns on Dean in an instant. He grins and ruffles Cas’ hair, leaving it even more unkempt than its usual state.  
  
“Don’t worry Cas, I’ve got you. I won’t let you drown. Jesus. Did you seriously doubt that?”  
  
Cas doesn’t look up.  
  
“That would hinder your fun.”  
  
“What? Cas! You staying out here when we’re all in the water would ‘hinder my fun’. I’ve got you, man.”  
  
“You two are adorable,” Sam says, and his tone is only half mocking. Dean punches him in the shoulder lightly.  
  
“Whatever. You coming, Cas?”  
  
Cas looks at the water behind them dubiously, but after a second he nods.  
  
They get knee-deep into the water when Cas stays put, glancing at the shore uncertainly. Dean doesn't notice at first because he's too busy having a splashing war with Sam, and he only turns around when they're up to their chests. He could hit himself for forgetting Cas, and runs as best he can chest-deep in water back to his boyfriend.  
  
"Sorry, Cas."  
  
"No need to apologize," Cas says quietly, eyes still trained on the shore.  
  
"Get on my back," Dean says abruptly, and Cas tilts his head in confusion.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Get on my back. Piggyback ride. I'll carry you."  
  
Cas looks doubtful.  
  
"I'm too heavy for you to carry, Dean."  
  
"Quit doubting me, Cas! If I say I've got you, then I've got you."   
  
"Hey, lovebirds, the fun's happening out here!" Sam calls from where he and Sarah are up far enough that they're treading water. They're just deep enough that if they start to sink far enough they can push up against the bottom if they need to, but from where Dean and Cas are, they look very, very far.   
  
"The water will make you lighter, anyway," Dean adds. Cas' face has gone white, but when Dean offers his back, he only hesitates a moment before climbing on. Cas is thin and hardly heavy at all, and once they get deeper into the water, he barely weighs a thing. Cas grips at Dean's ribs for dear life the whole while and says nothing.   
  
"'Bout time," Sam says when they get there.   
  
"My apologies," Cas says, and looks like he means it down to his core. Sam seems visibly alarmed.  
  
"Dude - Cas, I'm joking. I totally get it. Hell, I'm afraid of clowns and that doesn't even make  _sense._  At least your fear does. And you're, y'know, conquering it."  
  
"For you," Cas adds, "because it's your birthday."  
  
Sam gets all smiley over that and Dean clears his throat a little more loudly than necessary. And if he's a little jealous, he makes no further indication.  
  
A forgotten beach ball floats by them at some point, and Sam and Sarah pass it back and forth, throwing it higher and higher every time. Every time it goes too far, Sam sighs but goes after it. Dean wants to play, but his promise to Cas is more important, so he just laughs whenever Sam's forced to swim far out to bring the ball back.  
  
"Dean. Perhaps - perhaps you could let me off your back. If you hold on to me tightly, I'll still be... safe." Cas appears conflicted, but firm. Dean doesn't protest; if Cas is comfortable enough to suggest it, Dean's not gonna disagree.  
  
He lets Cas down and wraps an arm tightly around his waist. Cas looks panicked at hell and first, but he eases up a little when it becomes obvious that Dean's not going to let anything happen to him. Still, he wraps both arms around Dean so tight that it's almost uncomfortable, but Dean doesn't mind. Dean's got one free hand, now, and he can play ball with Sam and Sarah.   
  
They stay out in the water til they're too tired to swim any more. Dean carries Cas out on his back and Sam does the same with Sarah, just because. They clear up their picnic site and wash off all the excess sand in the sort-of-shower things the lake management provides. The hot water doesn't work and they're freezing by the time they're all cleaned up, especially because the air is getting a little cooler. Their beach towels are huge and fluffy, though, and both couples huddle up until they've warmed up a little. Only then does Dean check his cell phone.  
  
"Shit. Shit shit shit," he says and hands the phone to Cas. The clock on it reads 6pm. Cas frowns.  
  
"You'll have to drive fast."  
  
"Am I missing something?" Sam asks, and Sarah laughs.   
  
"There's changing rooms over there, guys. Let's get dressed -  _quickly_  - and get going.   
  
*

Dean pumps the heat in the Impala the whole ride to Philadelphia. Sarah is driving – apparently she’s a speed demon when she drives, so she’s most likely to get them there in time. Sam’s riding shotgun but Dean reaches over the seat to turn on the heat the moment he feels Cas shiver.

Sarah’s as intense a driver as Sam warned, and she makes the 35 minute trip ten minutes faster than expected. There’s an unnerving amount of honking from the Impala’s otherwise underused horn, but Dean figures it’s worth it when they hit the city at 6:25 even. Sam looks confused as hell by their destination, but he can’t coerce anyone to explain why they’re in Philadelphia.

The city traffic hinders their progress by about ten minutes but it’s not so bad, because Dean now Dean can watch his little brother growing visibly excited as he tries to figure out where they’re headed.

“I didn’t know we were going somewhere else,” he says unnecessarily. Dean smirks and Cas smiles.

“This was Dean’s idea,” he explains, and Sam looks so proud that Dean looks away, inexplicably embarrassed.

“So where are we going?” Sam asks for the thousandth time. This time, Dean takes on the window, indicating that Sam should look outside.

The Citizen Bank Park Phillies' stadium is massive and all lit up. Over the front entrance is an enormous display featuring a Phillies baseball cap - the same as the one Cas is currently putting on his head - and a baseball. A smaller, though still huge, features the Phillie's mascot, the Phillie Phanatic. The greenish mascot is a green, fuzzy creature that sort of freaks Dean out, but not enough to comment. Besides, he's too stuck on the way Sam's face has become a shining beam of light, all lit up with happiness.  
  
"We're here," Dean says, though there's no real need to it. The look on Sam's face clearly indicates that he knows exactly what's going on, now. And if Sam's looking a little teary-eyed, Dean pretends not to notice.  
  
"Dean... I've always wanted - when we were kids, I always -"  
  
"No chick flick moments," Dean cuts off quickly, and Sam, to Dean's relief, doesn't continue on with his sappy speech. Instead, he rolls down the window and leans his head out, marveling at the bright lights and plethora of fans decked out in baseball paraphernalia. Dean casts a glance at Cas, who looks quietly happy. His expression mirrors Sam's - all childishly blissful - and Dean feels very much in love.  
  
Parking at the stadium is a bitch, what with the big turnout at a home game. Fans from Philadelphia are infamous for their intense, obsessive and borderline frightening love for their team. It's no surprise that the place is packed, even on a Tuesday evening. It's 6:45 when they're finally parked and make it out of the car. It's another ten minutes before they're inside and trying to find their seats.  
  
Dean's a little bit in awe. It's one thing to watch baseball on TV, but he finds that it's another thing entirely to be there in real life. The place is big, bigger than he imagined. Sam seems to be feeling just as impressed, because he's looking all around surveying the seats and the field and the displays flickering everywhere.  
  
"Forgot I always wanted to do this," Sam says, and Dean barely hears him over the roar of the crowd - but he does, and the sentiment makes all this better, somehow. Sam's even happier because this is something that Dean pulled out his memory, dug out deep from his childhood. Dean's pleased he remembered. He's also pleased that Cas insisted that he try.  
  
They find their seats fairly easily, because Cas has a map and has already checked online for information on how to find their seats. Dean's gotta admit, his boyfriend is pretty clever... though that's not really new news.

“We’ll get snack and shit next inning,” Dean says, and everyone agrees. No way is anyone missing the first pitch.

7:05 on the dot, the game starts. The visiting team – the Atlanta Braves – is up to bat first. Dean finds himself holding his breath as the first pitch is thrown, and he’s not even sure why. Beside him, he can feel Sam doing the same thing. Cas is looking at him curiously, and Dean laughs and ruffles Cas’ hair.

Halfway into the second inning, Dean realizes that he’s holding Cas’ hand. Cas notices him noticing and looks at Dean expectantly, because hand holding is not a thing they do on a regular basis, and especially not in public. Dean threads their fingers together in response to Cas’ silent question, and Cas seems to relax.

Dean’s stomach is growling by the third inning and Cas gives him an incredulous look when he announces that he’s hungry.

“Two burgers and three hot dogs, Dean,” he reminds him, and Dean grins and shrugs.

 

“What can I say? Baseball makes me hungry.”

“You’re a bottomless pit,” Cas says, exasperated. He tells Dean this often.

Dean tells Sam and Sarah that he and Cas are heading to the snack bar. Sarah requests French fries and Sam asks for a pretzel. Dean groans at their lack of creativity.

“We’re in  _Philadelphia_  and you’re getting French fries and pretzels? Where’s your imagination? They’ve got friggin hoagies and cheesesteaks out there.”

“We’re  _normal people_ , Dean,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes, though her tone is affectionate. “We’re not hungry yet. We’ll go out to eat after the game.”

“Psh. I’m not gonna last that long. C’mon, Cas,” he beckons his boyfriend, and Cas follows after.

The line takes forever. It takes half an inning, actually, but Dean’s mostly concentrating on how Cas is still holding his hand and how little he cares that people can see. He likes the feeling of Cas’ hands, even though they’re cold. Dean remembers some old saying that goes like ‘cold hands, warm heart’ or something, and he thinks it’s pretty accurate. Regardless, he puts all his energy into warming them up.

“Dean?” Cas asks when they finally make it to the front of the line. Dean realizes he’s been staring at Cas and the concession worker and people in line behind him are getting irritated.

“Your face is distracting,” he mutters, and realizes too late how lame that sounds. They order their food and get on their way. Dean catches Cas looking at him as they walk back and their eyes meet. He holds their gaze as they walk, and even amidst the loud multitudes of people around them, all he can see is Cas.

*

The Phillies win. Sam and Dean go hoarse with their shouting and cheering along with everyone around them. Sarah does her fair share of cheering, too, though she has the foresight to keep the volume low enough to spare her vocal cords. Cas watches them with his head tilted. He looks very much like an angel trying to figure out humanity – and really, he still sort of is. He’ll always be Dean’s angel.

If traffic was a bitch  _before_  the game, it is now a raging PMSing dragon. Dean drives them to a hoagie shop not too far from the stadium so they can wait out the bulk of the traffic while they eat. No one does hoagies like Philadelphia, they’ve heard, so Dean declares it’s about time they capitalized on their proximity to the city and tested this theory. They order their hoagies and sit down, and Sam and Sarah excuse themselves to either respective bathroom. Their food comes while the others are gone, and Cas retaliates for Dean’s earlier antics with not-even-a-little-subtle pornographic noises as he eats.

“The minute they leave, you’re fucking me so hard into the mattress, Cas,” Dean growls in a low tone, and Cas nearly gags on his bite of his sandwich because he’s so taken aback. A woman sitting in the booth behind them promptly leaves her table. Cas is silent, just stares at Dean with a heated look that can only be described as  _eye sex_. When Sam comes back to the table, he has to clear his throat to break them from their reverie.

“Y’know, the whole creepy staring thing makes much more sense now,” Sam says, “I mean, before you were together it was just freaking weird, but at least now I know you’re actually in love or whatever.”

“Or in heat,” Dean grumbles under his breath, but Sam doesn’t hear him. Sarah rejoins them at the table and they all dig into their sandwiches – and yeah, Philly hoagies definitely live up to the hype.

The ride home consists of, first, constant chatter about the game from Dean and Sam, which eventually dissolves into a comfortable silence. Dean’s driving and Sam’s riding shotgun, and it’s bringing back memories of the days where this car was there home and the road was their life. So much has changed.

Yet, looking at his little brother smiling softly out the window with his scruffy hair in his face, Dean realizes that some things never change.

*

“You should take Sam for drinks, Dean,” Cas suggests when they get home, and Dean thinks some one-on-one brother bonding is actually a great idea. But he has to protest a little on principle.

“We can’t just leave you two,” Dean says, indicating Cas and Sarah. Sarah rolls her eyes and Cas looks perplexed.

“We’ll be fine, guys,” Sarah says, waving them off. “Go do your brother thing. Just call us when you need us to pick you up.”

“We’re not going to get  _that_  drunk, Sarah,” Sam says. Sarah just wears a bemused expression and insists that she drive them. A fiancée and an ex-angel firmly set in their decisions are a force to be reckoned with, so Sam and Dean have to concede after a minute or two of protesting. Sarah drives both brothers to the closest pub, lest they get the idea to walk in their potential drunken state. Sam gives Sarah a kiss through the window she’s rolled down to tell Sam happy birthday again in a quiet, warm tone that seems very soft and intimate. Dean takes a couple steps away and studiously looks at the ground to give them a moment.

Finally, Sarah drives away and they enter the bar. They start out with just a shot of vodka each – but when the Dean proudly tells the bartender that today is Sam’s birthday, she says the next two are on the house. Four shots in, Sam’s already tipsy. Figures. For someone so huge, he’s still a lightweight.

“Dean,” he says abruptly, so seriously that it’s comical because it’s obviously due to alcohol. Dean raises an eyebrow as he signals to the bartender to bring two more beers.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean replies, amused.

“Dean,  _thank you_ ,” he says the words slowly like Dean will miss them if he doesn’t, and Dean groans.

“I got it, I got it, you’re thankful. You’re welcome, Sam, Jesus. Remember I said no chick flick moments?”

Sam is quiet for a moment and then he nods, like he’s processed this information and is content with it.

Another two shots vodka and two shots of whiskey later, Sam is utterly drunk and hugging Dean and it’s so awkward it may actually be physically painful. It would be worse if Dean wasn’t buzzing, himself, thankfully. From the glances the bartender is shooting them, it’s clear that she thinks they’re gay for each other. Which is – ew.

“I love you, man,” Sam says into Dean’s shoulder, and makes a sound that is quite possibly sniffling.

“Love you too, Sam,” Dean says, patting Sam awkwardly on the back.

He flags down the bartender and orders another beer.

“So like… how gay  _are_  you?” he asks Dean out of the blue a couple minutes later.

“… What?”

“Are you like  _gay_  gay or like… gay?”

“Sammy, yer  _drunnk_ ,”Dean slurs firmly and Sam huffs a frustrated breath.

“Answer the question!”

“What does that even  _mean_?”

“Are you, like, the bitch or –”

“So not having this conversission.”

“It’s okay to be the bitch, Dean,” Sam says – and he’s seriously using The Concerned Empathetic Voice, the one he uses when they’re dealing with families who’ve just lost someone and they have to ask if there were flickering lights and cold spots beforehand.

“You are so lucky ‘s your birthday.”

“Cas really loves you,” Sam says, ignoring that.

“Yeah?” Dean says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Sam nods. “He’s good for you.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“Thanks?”

“For likin Cas. ‘Cause if you didn’t he’d haveta go. And I like Cas.”

Sam looks at him long and hard for a minute before he laughs.

“You’re stupid.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

*

When they finally leave the bar, they’re singing Happy Birthday at the top of their lungs and staggering all over the place. Sam sings “to me-ee!” when Dean sings “to Sammy!” toward the end of the song, and they both start laughing and can’t stop. Sam takes out his phone and seems to send some sort of text, but Dean doesn’t know what it says.

They’ve got matching grins on their faces as they head home on foot, because it didn’t occur to either of them to call either of their respective partners. That’s why they’re both surprised when Sam’s car pulls up beside them as they walk.

“Get in,” Sarah says. Cas is riding shotgun and looking vaguely concerned.

“How’dyaknow?” Sam asks, staring a Sarah like he’s seen the face of God.

“Well, Cas and I were able to decode your text ‘Singin, got cut off’ and we came after you.”

Sam beams.

“See? I like this girl right here. She’s smart,” he declares, and even in his drunken state he’s so full of love he practically glows under the streetlight. Sarah blushes slightly.

“Get in,” she tells them, and the two brothers comply. It’s a short drive to the flat, but Dean realizes as soon as he sits down that he’s grateful Sarah and Cas came for them. His legs feel like jelly. He hasn’t been drinking in the past couple months, not since he and Cas fell for each other or whatever, so he seriously overestimated his tolerance level.

Cas and Dean share the couch, like they always do when Sam and Sarah stay over. Dean goes straight for the back of Cas’ neck – his weak spot, Dean knows – with lavish kisses and tiny bites. Cas tenses all over, but immediately puts his hands on Dean’s face to push him away.

“We have company,” he says quietly, indicating Dean’s already sleeping brother.

“We can be quiet,” Dean says, wiggling his hips suggestively. The only tiny part of him that’s thinking clearly is wondering if he’ll remember this in the morning.

“No we can’t, Dean. Shush, you are drunk. Sleep.”

Dean sighs and complies, pulling Cas close to him and wrapping an arm around him. Cas tucks his head under Dean’s neck and they both fall asleep.

*

Dean wakes up with the biggest hangover he’s had since St. Patrick’s Day. He groans when he sits up; his pulsing head protests at the motion and he wants nothing more than to lie back down. He frowns at the empty space beside him where Cas ought to be – but then he catches scent of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen and he decides that Cas’ absence is justified. Across the room, Sam stretches and then makes a groan similar to Dean’s own and Dean assumes Sam’s hangover is probably as bad as his own.

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, the smell of food compelling enough to get him on his feet. Cas – Cas serious,  _somehow_ , procured a Phillies  _apron_  and he’s already pouring Dean a cup of coffee. Dean accepts the mug graciously and kisses Cas.

“You’re a godsend, Cas,” he says and Cas chuckles.

“I am, actually,” he says, and Dean grins because, ironically, that really is true.

“What are you making?” Dean asks sleepily, taking a seat at the table and slumping into the seat.

“Greasy breakfast,” Cas says, “I believe you told me once that that is the best treatment for a hangover?” He tosses Dean a bottle of Ibuprofen and Dean takes two with his coffee, giving Cas a look like he’s Jesus or something.

“What would I do without you?” Dean asks – and he finds that he means the question more than he realized.

Cas shrugs. “Go to diners for your greasy breakfast.”

Dean snorts.

“Nothing tops your cooking, Cas,” Dean says gently, and he hopes that Cas understands all the unspoken words behind it. Cas seems to smile with his eyes, so Dean takes it as confirmation.

Sarah comes into the kitchen, followed by Sam, who is clutching his head like he’s been wounded. Dean tosses Sam the bottle of pills and Sam drops it and groans. Sarah rolls her eyes and picks it up for him.

Two pills and one cup of coffee later, everyone’s sitting at the table and tucking into Cas’ stellar breakfast. He’s made a different, much healthier lunch for himself and Sarah because neither of them have hangovers – Dean has to admit that the crepes look good, but nothing’s as enticing as the food on his own plate right now. Dean keeps bumping elbows with Cas, which makes Cas look at him with a confused expression which is – if Dean’s honest – really friggin adorable. This is probably why Dean keeps doing it.

Cas serves tea after breakfast and everyone crowds onto the couch to try it out. It’s awesome, like most of Cas’ suggestions and it seems to help, somehow, with both Sam and Dean’s hangovers. It’s after everyone’s finished their tea that Sam and Sarah finally announce that they have to leave.

“Aw, guys, you don’t have to go,” Dean says, because he seriously doesn’t want them to. He enjoys their company, and it hits him all at once how much he’s going to miss them. Sam seems to only visit on holidays, and Dean has no idea when the hell the next one is.

“Yes we do,” Sarah says with a sigh, “We’ve got a date with my parents at some restaurant in honor of Sam’s birthday.”

“Some fancy one,” Sam adds, and he slumps against the couch. Dean understands – if Sam’s headache is anything like Dean’s, he’s probably not too eager to go anywhere ritzy like that. Dean, for instance, plans to spend the day in his pyjamas watching TV and – okay, yeah, cuddling with Cas.

“Monkey suit and all?” Dean asks, smirking.

“Monkey suit and all,” Sam admits ruefully.

“The drive’s at least two hours and Sam needs time to recuperate. But we’ll visit soon, okay?” Sarah’s tone is sincere, and Dean really wants to believe her.

“Okay,” is his only reply. He hugs Sarah and gives Sam a slap on the back. He can see a ‘thank you’ forming on his brother’s lips, and he quickly cuts him off.

“No. Chick. Flick. Shit,” he says, and Sam just grins.

“See you soon, Dean.”

“See ya soon, Sammy.”

Cas exchanges hugs as well – albeit awkwardly, of course – and finally all the goodbyes have been said and they leave.

No sooner is the door closed behind Sam and Sarah does Cas turn to Dean, cutting quickly into her personal space and pressing close against him. Dean raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t have time to say something facetious before Cas’ lips are crashing against his and his hands are sliding against Dean’s skin beneath his shirt. Dean kisses back eagerly after a millisecond of confusion

“Cas?” Dean whispers when their mouths part for air.

“I believe your exact words were, ‘the minute they leave, you are fucking me so hard’, were they not?”

“Jesus,” Dean breathes.

“I prefer ‘Castiel’,” Cas says with a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

“My head hurts,” Dean protests weakly, but he knows the battle is already lost.

“I can easily distract you from that,” Cas says, and essentially attacks Dean’s mouth, all tongue and teeth and urgency. Dean closes his eyes and shuts up… because, seriously, the only downside to Sam’s birthday was being deprived of  _this._

 


	11. In Loving Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Mother's Day, and Dean intends to spend it like he does every year... drinking himself unconscious. Castiel's not going to let him off that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not as macabre as the title would imply, I promise! It's shorter than the rest because it was a last minute decision to write it. (Thanks to Ashley for the inspiration). I wanted it to be like 2k but of course I have no self restraint...

Dean walks out of the kitchen and shuts his cell phone with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a huff of air. Cas looks up from the book he’s reading – The Vintner’s Luck, apparently it’s quite good – and eyes Dean curiously.

“Dean?”

“Sammy wants to go visit  _Mom’s grave_  for Mother’s day,” Dean replies, scoffing. “Morbid little weirdo, man. He already got us tickets to Lawrence – like he seriously thought I was going to go.” Dean shakes his head.

Cas gives him a sideways glance.

“I think it’s a good idea, Dean,” Cas says quietly after a moment. Dean looks incredulous – then, pissed.

“Uh – sorry,  _what_ did you just say?”

Cas frowns.

“It would be good for you, Dean. You lived your whole life fighting to find her killer, and the apocalypse followed closely after. You haven’t had time to heal. Perhaps – “

“Perhaps, nothing. Do you know what I’m going to do on Sunday? The same thing I do every Mother’s Day – go out and get drunk as hell. And, y’know, have distraction sex all day,” he adds, winking at Cas and sitting on the couch beside him. He flashes a grin he hopes doesn’t look as fake as it feels. Cas’ expression is clearly unhappy.

“I don’t like when you treat your problems with alcohol, Dean,” he says seriously.

Dean leans forward and presses a kiss to the back of Cas’ neck – Cas’ weak spot, he knows. He nips at the skin there lightly, dragging his tongue over it and smiling.

“Hmm, that so? Maybe I can settle for the sex, then,” he says, eager to distract Cas from his argument. Cas tenses and Dean thinks, for a moment, that he’s won the fight. No such luck. Cas closes his book and glares at Dean.

“You’re repressing. It’s unhealthy,” Cas says blankly, inching out of Dean’s reach and crossing his arms. Dean’s pissed again, and he glares at Cas in a fiery sort of way that he hasn’t used in a while.

“How would you know, anyway?” Dean says, and he stands from the couch and heads for the coat closet. A part of him knows he’s being a dick, that he’s overreacting… but this is  _Mom_  they’re talking about, and Sam and Cas are trying to dredge up memories Dean’s long since buried. Of course it’s not Dean’s fault he’s defensive, that he’s acting slightly over the top. “It’s not exactly like you’ve got a mother. It’s kind of a  _human_ thing.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Dean realizes he’s crossed a line… but he doesn’t feel like taking it back, either.

Cas flinches like he’s been hit, eyes widening before they narrow into a glare like daggers that might have terrified Dean if he wasn’t so damn pissed. Dean pulls his jacket from the closet and tugs it on.

“Where are you going?” Cas demands.

“Out.”

“Where?”

“ _Out,”_  Dean repeats, more sharply than intended. Cas stares at him in that intense way of his, as though he’s staring right through Dean’s flesh and into his soul or something. Dean breaks eye contact because he’s pretty sure that look could make him feel really guilty, really fast.

… But Dean is obviously  _right_  and there’s nothing to feel guilty about. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“If you happen to  _repress_  to the point where you can’t drive home, call me,” Cas hisses just as Dean closes the door. Dean stands in front of the closed door under the glow of their porch light for a moment, annoyed that Cas had to go and show Dean that he cares, even as he’s insulting him.

*

Dean wakes up the following morning in a fog. When he’s conscious enough to realize it, he knows something is very wrong – the kitchen doesn’t smell like breakfast or coffee. Furthermore, he’s on the couch and not on the bed with Cas, who is sitting there, cross-legged, and has his nose in a book as usual. Dean’s head is killing him and – which is also weird – there’s no aspirin in reach.

Basically, Cas is not acting like he usually does when he suspects Dean will be hung over.

“Cas?” Dean grumbles, sitting up. Cas only looks up from his book for a moment, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll drive you somewhere to eat if your delicate head is hurting too much to do it yourself,” Cas says tersely. “But brush your teach first, your mouth likely smells like a brewery.”

This is a lot of information for Dean’s admittedly throbbing head, and he leans back against the couch for a minute, closing his eyes and squeezing his temples with his forefingers. He tries to remember last night, but he’s finding it hazy and difficult.

“Gotta pick up the Impala,” he says groggily after a moment, vaguely remembering having taken a cab home. Apparently he  _had_ gotten too drunk to drive, but was, typically, too proud to call Cas and had managed to navigate a phonebook on his own.

“Done,” Cas says curtly.

Dean opens his eyes.

“You walked there?”

“It’s not far.”

They’re both silent a moment and Dean thinks that Cas might have gone back to his reading.

“What time did I come home?” Dean asks, finally breaking the silence.

“12:47am,” Cas says. Dean finds it weird that Cas knows the exact minute… but then, it’s Cas, so it’s not really that weird at all.

“What time did I leave?”

“9:30.”

“Shit.”

Well, that would explain why Cas is pissed.

Dean hasn’t gone out drinking like this since well before Christmas – before he realized how he felt about Cas and decided that he wanted to hold onto something good in his life, for once. It’s not that his ghosts went away, per se, but rather he’s had something else to focus on. A warm, positive little ball of light in his life that made everything haunting him take back burner. He hasn’t  _needed_  to drink.

“Why don’t we go to a diner?” Dean asks, hoping that Cas might just let this go and Dean can smooth it over.

“I can drop you off at a diner, if you wish.”

Dean sighs. He’s not going to get off easy, it seems.

“Listen, Cas – “

Cas clears his throat… and there’s something in it, some weird undercurrent Dean picks up on because he knows Cas inside and out. It puts him on alert.

“Dean, please be forward with me. Did you go home with anyone last night?”

Dean stares at Cas dubiously, trying to process what he’s just been asked.

“What?”

Cas sighs and refuses to meet Dean’s eyes, despite how intently Dean is trying to look into his.

“If you cheated on me, I’d like to know. It’s not an impassable roadblock, but…”

Dean stares at Cas like he’s grown another head.

“What? Whoa, whoa, easy, Sunshine. I would never – “

“There was blonde hair on your coat when you came home. You didn’t smell like you.” Cas doesn’t look angry; he looks weary. More tired than Dean has seen him in a while. Dean feels all sorts of feelings tugging at his heart and he hates all of them. He wonders whether the wave of nausea in his stomach is from all the alcohol he drank last night or something else.

Dean wishes to God he could remember last night. For all his blankness, though, he knows that no way under the sun could he cheat on Cas. Cas is too important to fuck up over a one night stand.

“I did not mean to push you too hard, Dean,” Cas is saying suddenly, “I – Sam and I… I fought my way through hell for you, slayed legions of demons for you. I just wanted to help you fight your own demons.  Dean, I,” and Dean can hear Cas choking slightly, almost inaudibly, on the words. It breaks Dean’s friggin heart. “I love you.  I apologize. Please do not sleep with anyone else.”

Dean’s off the couch and crawling into bed beside Cas in half a second, even despite the protests from his ailing head. He kisses Cas and kisses him again, then kisses his forehead and nose. He pulls back a bit so he can look in Cas’ eyes.

“I love you, too,” Dean whispers, pressing his forehead against Cas’. “I didn’t sleep with anyone, Cas, Jesus. Don’t you know…” Dean shakes his head slightly because he sucks at the whole feelings thing, particularly articulating them. “Don’t you know you’re all I need, man? Shit, Cas, I’ve never been this happy before. Like. Ever.” This has surged so deep into chick flick land that Dean feels like he may possibly be betraying his manhood. He swallows this feeling, though, because the look in Cas’ eyes catches him off guard.

“Oh,” Cas replies flatly, like all the fight’s been drained from him.

They’re quiet a moment, just looking at each other.

“What about the blonde hair? And perfume?” Cas asks, but there’s no accusation in his tone. He only sounds curious, now.

Dean glances at his jacket, which is draped over the back of the couch where he apparently left it last night. Then his eyes travel to the floor beside the couch and his face lights up with understanding.

“Oh, shit! Duh. Christ, okay.” Dean scrambles off the bed and over to the couch. There’s a shopping bag beside it and he grabs it and quickly climbs into bed with Cas again.

“I don’t remember the majority of last night – okay, that sounds bad, sorry – but I remember this, now. I think. I was taking a cab home and saw this in the window of a department store and I thought of you. And they were having some sort of late night special or whatever, I don’t remember, but they were open and I told the cabbie to wait. And I think I pissed off a few people? Probably. And the chick that helped me pick it for you was kinda touchy-feely if you get what I mean, and she was blonde, so that’d be it. And the perfume is probably from that part of the department store where they try to sell you scented shit for girlfriends. I was pretty drunk, man.”

Cas glances at the bag.

“What is it?”

“… I honestly don’t fucking remember.”

Cas heaves a longsuffering sigh and opens the bag. His face lights up when he sees what’s inside – even though Dean knows the guy’s struggling to keep from looking too happy because he doesn’t want Dean to get off that easy. Dean’s sure he should be ashamed at stooping to bribery, but if there’s one thing Cas likes, it’s sweaters.

Cas has been pretty bummed lately that the weather’s simply too warm for all his dorky, awful sweaters. Since early May hit, even the angel had to concede that the time for knit and wool things had past. He’s got an array of t-shirts, now, and a few light jackets, but Dean catches him sometimes looking a little wistfully at all his ugly sweaters when he sees them in the drawer.

So, Dean’s decided that can at least have cardigans. He’s pretty sure they’re like, similar enough or whatever. Same general idea. Even when he was stupid drunk last night, the display window showing off a new line of completely atrocious cardigans had reminded Dean of Cas. They bear similar patterns to the thick ones Cas is has become so fond of, but are made of a lightweight material with a nice v cut, perfect for warmer weather. The design is busy and the colors are weird, but he can tell that Cas loves it so it’s worth the eyesore.

“You like it?” Dean asks after Cas has inspected it.

“Of course,” Cas says, like the question confuses him. “I love it, Dean.”

Dean grins.

“So, truce?” Dean asks, ruffling Cas’ hair. Cas’ expression is suddenly less cheerful.

“No,” he says flatly.

“What? What the hell, Cas?”

“You came home at one in the morning, Dean. I was… worried about you.” He says the last part like he’s embarrassed of it or something. Dean’s reminded of all the times he’s been worried about Sam, how relieved and equally pissed he’d been when he figured out whatever happened each time. He gets why Cas is pissed.

“I said I was sorry,” Dean says in a pouty voice, flashing his sweetest smile at Cas, puckering his lip oh-so-slightly. Cas is unfazed.

“I am not swayed by bribery, Dean. I love the sweater, but I’m angry at you.”

“Well, shit,” Dean says, “What can I do? Are you, like, ever going to forgive me?”

“Yes. But I have conditions.”

Dean groans.

“Number one – you agree to  _never do that again_. Either bring me, if you must, and I’ll drive you home, or just don’t get piss drunk in the middle of the night.”

“Done,” Dean says immediately, because he has no intentions of doing that again. He didn’t like the way Cas looked at him earlier, like he was afraid everything was going to fall apart or something. Like he was afraid of losing this, what they have together. Dean hates that he was responsible for that look.

Cas looks wary, but he plows on. “Two – you make me breakfast.”

“ _What?_ ” Dean whines. “I’m the hungover  one here.”

Cas shrugs. “That is your own fault. The only thing you are better at making than me is French toast. I’d like that.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbles, because he’s not exactly in the position to be complaining.

“Three – I’d like to sleep with you, right now.”

Dean swallows.

“I am  _so_  okay with that, man,” Dean says, biting his lip subconsciously. He thinks it’s kinda funny that Cas says it all formal like that, every time. Dean just says ‘fuck’, like he always has, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind his lack of tact.

“I’m angry with you. I’m going to be rough and you’re not going to complain,” Cas growls.

And – yeah, okay, Cas is typically kinda gentle when he tops for whatever reason, which is cool with Dean because (and he’d never, ever, admit it, ever), he’s a little afraid of going at it too hard when he’s not entirely in control. Cas doesn’t mind what pace they’re at no matter  _who_ tops, but they’ve got an unspoken agreement that Cas doesn’t slam into him so hard he feels it the following day. It’s part of that weird symbiotic relationship they’ve got going on, the whole thing where they don’t always need to speak to understand what the other wants.

Dean swallows again, because this is a big step… but he also realizes right away that he’s willing to take it. He’s almost looking forward to it.

“Fine,” he says quickly, and Cas looks taken aback, like he’d been expecting Dean to protest.

“Lastly, we’re celebrating Mother’s Day.”

“C’mon, Cas – “ Dean starts to protest because,  _seriously_ , are they really back to this subject? Cas puts a finger to Dean’s lips before he can say anything else, though.

“It does not have to be Sam’s idea. You may choose. Even if it’s very small, Dean. We could eat dinner in her honor or plant a flower outside for her. It is your decision.”

Dean is quiet, picking at loose threads in the couch, mulling this over.

“Your mother was a remarkable woman, Dean. Her memory should be celebrated. I don’t want it to cause you pain every year.”

Dean heaves a heavy, heavy sigh, and looks up and meets Cas’ eyes.

“Okay,” is all his says.

“Okay?” Cas repeats, incredulous. It’s obvious he’d been expecting Dean to fight the idea til it died. Cas smiles.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“I think you mentioned something about sex?” Dean says, skirting over whatever Cas is trying to articulate. Cas rolls his eyes… but then, before Dean is even properly prepared, he’s kissing Dean, crawling into his lap and licking into his mouth, biting at his lips and tugging at Dean’s shirt.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Dean breathes, and Cas just chuckles against his mouth and pulls his boyfriend’s shirt off completely.

*

Cas ends up making the French toast. Dean claims he can barely sit, let alone  _cook_  and Cas doesn’t even argue. In fact, as he serves them both and pours Dean coffee, he’s got this smug little self-satisfied grin on his face that he seems to be trying valiantly to fight. He’s humming under his breath as he pours his own tea, and Dean thinks the tune might be ‘Hey, Jude.’

Dean knows he’s smiling a little stupidly, too, though he’s trying just as hard as Cas not to look all cheesy about it.

Cas puts their food in front of them at the table and sits beside Dean. He puts an elbow on the table and cradles his chin in his palm, looking at Dean with an entirely pleased expression. Cas’ hair is a mess and so is Dean’s. Clearly sex hair on both counts.

Dean slumps back in his seat and groans.

“Jesus, Cas,” he says, “I’m going to be feeling this all goddamn week.” Dean isn’t even sure if this is an exaggeration.

“It was good?” Cas asks, eyeing Dean warily, even a little self-consciously.

Dean laughs.

“Are you kidding? That was fucking awesome, man. We should have makeup sex more often.” Dean is not sure this is actually a true statement. One the one hand – _shit,_ Dean is having a little trouble believing that Cas was a virgin a couple weeks ago. Or maybe the whole ‘being in love’ thing just makes him feel like his boyfriend is a sex god or something. On the other hand, this is the kind of intense fucking you can only handle every so often.

Cas laces his fingers with Dean’s and kisses his knuckles before letting go. “Thank you.”

“You gonna stop staring at me all dreamy so I can eat?” Dean asks, though his smirk betrays him. Cas shakes his head.

“I enjoy the way you look after sex,” Cas says casually as he pours syrup over his breakfast.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sunshine,” Dean says with a wink. Cas is wearing one of his t-shirts and Dean’s practically drooling over the sight of it.

“Speaking of,” Cas says, “the rabbit needs food, she’s running out.”

Dean groans again.

“There’s no way you’re getting me out of the house in this condition.”

“Dean.”

“I’m  _injured_ ,” Dean whines.

“No, Dean, you’re just well bedded.”

“I can’t walk.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“ _Cas_.”

Cas sighs.

“We’ll go later. She has enough for right now.”

Dean feels very proud that his whining actually succeeded, for once. Dean blames it on the afterglow.

*

“I think we have a case,” Dean says a couple hours later, and he turns his laptop around so that Cas can see the news article he’s looking at. Cas puts down his book and peers over, eyes quickly scanning the page.

“I agree,” Cas says after a moment, nodding his head. “Good eye, Dean. Succubi are difficult to spot.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Give me some credit, man. I’ve been hunting since before I could form complete sentences.”

“True. It should be a fairly easy hunt, yes?”

“Yeah. They’re like demons without the human host, which means she can be ganked quick and easy. I think there’s a spell that skewers em up barbecue style.”

“You realize that if she uses her charm on either of us, her effects will not wear off for quite some time?” Dean is fully aware of this. Succubi are nasty sons of bitches. They use sex as a weapon – if one touches a person, he’s got libido worse than a teenage boy for hours and he’s too distracted to keep the thing from sucking out all his energy. Telltale sign of a succubus in an area is a bunch of dudes turning up dead with boners.

“Of course I do. You ready for potential marathon sex if she gets one of us?” Dean grins, winking at Cas.

“I am not opposed to the idea.”

“C’mon, it’s in North Jersey. If we leave now, we can beat traffic and be there in an hour and a half.” Dean stands up and goes to get their jackets.

“Dean?” Cas asks as Dean tosses him his own jacket.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Mother’s Day is in two days. Have you chosen something, yet?” He seems worried, like Dean’s forgot.

Dean has not forgotten.

“Workin on it, Cas. Can we talk about this when we save those poor bastards out there being killed through their dicks?”

Cas wrinkles his nose.

“You’re crude, Dean.”

“You love me for it.”

“I do,” Cas agrees, and catches Dean’s lips with his own on his way out the door. “But we  _will_ talk about this. You promised, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says dismissively. Cas stands in the doorway and pouts and Dean makes a mental note to kick Sam’s ass because he’s pretty sure he taught the former-angel that look. Dean sighs.

“I  _will_ , okay? Scout’s honor. Geez.”

*

The succubus does  _not_ end up touching neither Dean nor Cas, which turns out to be a good thing because they’re both exhausted by the time they get home. Dean strips to his boxers the second he gets through the door and flops face first into the bed. Cas takes a moment to light a few of his favorite candles and turn off the light before he undresses, puts on pajamas and crawls into bed beside Dean.

Dean curls up next to Cas and pulls him close, entwining their legs and tucking his head under Cas’ chin. He feels safe and warm, like he always does when Cas is beside him. He remembers a time when he  _never_ felt safe, when the whole goddamn world was out to get him and his little brother. That time feels like a long, long time ago.

Dean is okay, now. More than okay.

“ ‘m gonna do it, Cas,” Dean whispers, kissing Cas’ throat softly.

“Hm?” Cas asks sleepily.

“I’m gonna do it. Go to mom’s grave on Sunday.”

This catches Cas’ attention.

“Are you sure, Dean?” he asks carefully, quietly. Dean nods.

“You were right. Mom’s ‘portant.” Dean yawns, losing track of what he’s saying. “She’d be sad, if she knew I act like Dad every Mother’s Day. Gotta go see her.”

“I’m proud of you, Dean.” Cas tilts his head so he can kiss Dean. Dean closes his eyes and smiles into it, enjoying the feel of Cas’ scruff against his face.

“Plus, you’re a holiday junkie. Can’t deprive my boyfriend.”

Cas chuckles.

“I love you very much, Dean.”

“Love you too, Cas. Let’s go to sleep.”

*

Cas packs a picnic lunch for a graveyard.

It’s Dean’s idea, actually, and it’s more than a little weird… but it seems kind of fitting, and Cas doesn’t mention it. Sam doesn’t even make fun of him for the idea, either. Dean gets the feeling that they’re both just grateful Dean agreed to go. Neither of them wants to risk making him change his mind.

What’s worse than, y’know, facing his inner demons and man pain or whatever the hell else he’s going to be doing today, Dean has to ride on a  _plane_. He’d sort of forgotten that in the midst of his sleepy sentiments Friday night. Now it’s Sunday morning and Dean is slightly panicked.

“We can’t just drive?” Dean asks the tiniest bit frantically. Sam’s sitting in his kitchen with Cas and they’re both drinking tea. It’s ridiculously early in the morning and Dean’s still in his boxers. Sam’s wearing a goddamn  _suit_ and Cas keeps fighting with his blue tie. So far, he has it on backwards and it keeps coming loose.

“No, Dean,” Sam says, at least having the decency to sound sympathetic, “not if we want to get there, y’know,  _today_.”

“C’mere, Cas,” Dean grumbles, crossing the kitchen and straightening Cas’ tie for him. Sam snorts.

“Married,” he says in a singsong voice.

“Dude, no,” Dean says, dropping his hands quickly once Cas’ tie is fixed. Cas tilts his head in confusion.

“Dude, yes. So friggin married.”

“Married couples don’t fuck as much as we do, Sammy.”

“God! Dean! Not a mental image I wanted!”

“I think I win.”

“We should get going,” Cas cuts in, “We’re going to miss our flight.”

Dean swallows. He’d been kinda hoping that would be the case.

*

Airplanes are hell. Dean would know; he’s  _been_ to hell. Shit, if the sadistic fuckers down there had really wanted to torture him, they could have just stuck him on a never-ending plane ride. He feels like he’s going to lose his lunch when the plane departs. An hour into the trip, Cas’ hand is probably throbbing with how tightly Dean’s holding on to it. Cas doesn’t comment as such, though.

Sam, all the while, is incredibly amused at Dean’s expense.

Turbulence shakes the plane and Dean’s eyes practically bug out of their sockets. Cas rubs reassuring circles over Dean’s hand with his thumb. Dean looks up at him, a picture of misery, and Cas kisses him. Across the aisle, a man clears his throat loudly and pointedly.

Cas turns around and frowns at the man.

“Can we assist you?”

“Hell yeah, you can. I’m trying to eat here.”

Cas looks genuinely confused.

“You may have to take up concerns about the food with a flight attendant.”

“Smartass,” the man grumbles. Cas looks even more confused, and Dean momentarily forgets his phobia in favor of being very, very pissed.

“You have a problem with my boyfriend?” Dean hisses, leaning over Cas so he can make absolutely certain the guy hears him – as well as catches the death glare Dean is sending him.

“They’ll let anyone on planes these days,” the man remarks, scoffing.

“Yeah, I thought they used to have a douchebag alarm but I guess they’ve slipped up on the security or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Excuse me?” the man says, clearly completely taken aback and equally disgusted by Dean’s comments, as though he hadn’t realized the men he taunted could taunt back.

“The only reason my fist hasn’t hit your face yet is because – “

“Dean!” Cas says firmly, putting a hand over Dean’s now balled up fist.

“He insulted you,” Dean says vehemently.

“I am not insulted. The musings of ignorant men do not bother me.”

Dean snorts but his fist unclenches and he looks away from the man, and back into Cas’ eyes.

“If I really want to piss him off, I guess I could just kiss you again.”

“There’s always that.”

“And again, and again…” Dean leans forward for what he intends to be a kiss completely inappropriate for a plane, but Sam taps him (or, rather, smacks him) on the back urgently.

“Um. Little brother. Right here. Sitting right next to you,” Sam says, looking so traumatized that Dean has to laugh.

“Too PG-13 for you, Sammy?”

A sudden bout of turbulence wipes the smile off of Dean’s face instantly. Sam sniggers, looking vindicated.

“We’ll land soon, Dean,” Cas assures him.

“Not soon enough,” Dean says through gritted teeth. And if he leans into Cas a little more than necessary, well, no one has to notice.

*

“Sure you wanna do this?”

Sam, Cas, and Dean are standing at the precipice of Lawrence’s prettiest graveyard, staring in. The cab that brought them there is driving off already, though Dean supposes it’s not too late to call him back. He’s not going to, though. Instead, Dean replies to Sam’s question with a nod, unsure whether he trusts himself to speak or not.

It’s kind of surreal, being in a cemetery where they’re not there to dig up a grave and torch the remains. Dean finds that it’s actually sort of peaceful without fear and adrenaline forcing him to dig deep holes that were never meant to be dug up again. Many of the graves have flowers and there are trees all around in full bloom. Dean thinks idly that spring is a good time of year for Mother’s Day.

Everyone follows Dean to Mary’s gravesite, because he’s the only one who’s ever been to it. Sam had been a baby when they last came; Dean’s surprised he remembers where it is at all. He does, though, and he’s able to lead them all right to it. Her headstone is under a tree, which was substantially smaller when Dean was last here. It’s a pink flowering tree that has blossoms fluttering in the breeze everywhere.

Dean takes a huge breath and lets his eyes trace the words on the tombstone.  _Mary Winchester. Loving Mother, Beloved Wife._ And – and, shit, Dean can feel his vision blurring and he stares at the sky, breathing in and out deeply again. Sam has walked over to the headstone and is plucking roots and grass off it that have overtaken it from years of neglect. There’s no remains buried beneath it, of course, though Dean thinks her ashes might have been placed in before the hole was covered. He distinctly remembers his four year old self not getting why they had dug up a whole and closed it up again.

He understands why Sam and Cas wanted to come here, now. He can’t put it into words why, though. It’s just an understanding that’s hit him. It hurts, seeing this, but it’s the good kind of hurt. The healing kind.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean whispers, and to his credit his voice only cracks a tiny bit.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Sam adds, though he’s looking at the sky and not the grave. Dean gets it; Sam thinks their mom is in heaven, and so does he. Despite everything, Dean has a feeling God – if he’s real – gave her a little amnesty. She did kind of have a lot of forces working to make her make that deal, after all.

And she was a damn good mom, too. Dean remembers that.

Dean rubs his palm against his eyes roughly for a moment. When his hand falls back to his side, Cas takes it in his. Dean is grateful for the familiar pressure in the gesture.

“Well!” Dean says after a moment of silence. He clears his throat because the word didn’t come out quite as light-hearted as intended. He tries again. “Well! Okay, I think we all said that remembering Mom isn’t supposed to be a sobfest. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry as hell and I think Mom would definitely approve of Cas’ apple pie, so let’s make this slightly less awkward and unpack the food.

Sam flashes Dean a grateful smile. His eyes are red, and Dean knows Sam’s been crying a bit too. It’s a little different for Sam – Sam’s missing someone in a completely different way. He’s missing a woman he’d have given anything to have in his life. He’s missing a presence that should have been there. They’d met briefly when they were sent back in time, and the look on Sam’s face had been awed. There was love there, instant and pure and running deep. It must have killed Sam to get a brief glimpse of her and know he’d never get it.

Sam’s getting closure now, too, Dean realizes. This is good for all of them.

Cas is pulling out his – get this – red and white checkered picnic blanket, just like the ones in the movies. He gets to work pulling out typical picnic dishes. Pie, salad, sandwiches, chips, potato salad, an All-American picnic and Dean is pretty sure Cas googled this. Dean is pleased, and he kisses Cas on the nose to show it. He’s wondering if it’s a bad sign that he’s not even embarrassed that Sam saw him doing such a ridiculously cheesy thing.

The sandwiches Cas packs are, unsurprisingly, delicious, and Cas makes Dean a potato salad lover against all odds. Sam keeps glancing at Mary’s headstone and then back to Dean with this strange look on his face like he can’t decide whether to grin or cry. Dean decides this look is okay with him and he stops worrying.

When they’re done eating, they all lay down on the blanket and stare at the sky. The day is bright blue with puffy white clouds like cotton balls, slow moving across the sky and making indistinct shapes. One looks like a pair of wings and Dean elbows Cas and points it out. Cas smiles.

“This was weirdly nice,” Sam says after a while of them all laying quietly.

“’Weirdly’? Were you expecting something else?” Dean asks.

“Well…” Sam says sheepishly, “I know I kept trying to reassure you, but I was afraid it was going to be gloomy as hell. But this is… nice.”

“Well, Mom’s awesome,” Dean says offhand, and it hits him how good it feels to be able to talk about Mom so easily, without it feeling like his heart is carrying a load of bricks. This was such a good idea. The longer they stay here, the more grateful he is that he agreed to this, that Sam suggested it all.

Sam chuckles. “Yeah she is.”

Cas gets up and goes over to the picnic basket, rummaging through it. Dean’s about to tell him that if he eats anything else, even pie, he’s going to explode, but Cas pulls something else out. He’s got a little package in his hands, and when he comes closer Dean sees that the package contains seeds.

“I thought of bringing flowers,” Cas says, tearing open the packet, “but I thought it would be better to plant our own. They’ll thrive when we’re gone. We can’t visit often, so Mary will always have flowers…” Cas trails off, like he’s not exactly sure this is a good idea now that he’s saying it out loud. Sam and Dean look equally excited, though, and when Cas notices, the apprehension seems to drain from his body.

“Cas, that’s a great idea!” Sam says at the same time Dean says, “Dude, you’re awesome.”

Cas has three tiny garden spades and he hands one to both Sam and Dean. They each dig their own respective holes and bury the seeds deep into the ground. Cas chose bellflowers because (or , so the Internet has told him), they live very long and bloom very bright. They’re, apparently, a vibrant purple and grow in clusters. Dean’s already wondering when their next trip back will be, because he’s eager to see how the flowers turn out.

Surprisingly enough, the time goes by quickly. Soon the sun is setting and it’s time to catch their plane home. They say awkward goodbyes to the rock with their mother’s name on it before they leave. There’s none of the somberness that was there when they first arrived, though; it’s as if some weight has been lifted from their shoulders.

It’s a good feeling.

*

When they get home, Cas goes to boil water tea in the kitchen right away, out of instinct. Dean’s often mused that Cas is almost as addicted to tea as he is to holidays, sweaters and candles. If he’s not already, he’s certainly getting there. Before he can turn the knob on the stove, though, Dean comes behind him and his hand slides over Cas’, stopping him.

“Thank you, Cas,” Dean purrs in his ear.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Cas breathes, though Dean notices from experience the slight  shift in Cas’ voice.

“Yes I do. You pushed me to go. I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want me to.”

“I am happy I could help. Mary is important to you.”

“So are you,” Dean says, losing track of the conversation as he kisses Cas’ jaw. Cas makes a tiny, noncommittal noise.

“Let’s have a bubblebath, Cas,” Dean says suddenly, spinning Cas around in his arms until he’s facing him. Cas smiles, more with his eyes than his mouth, like he usually does. The thing with Cas is that he  _means_ it when he smiles with his eyes. A smile with his mouth is just bonus points.

“I’d like that,” Cas says, and the smile does reach his lips, now.

“Best Mother’s Day ever, Cas,” Dean says offhand as he slides Cas’ tie from his neck. “Never celebrated it before.”

Cas’ eyes trace the movement of Dean’s hands, and Dean’s not even entirely sure he’s listening.

“I’m glad I was here for it,” Cas says once the tie falls to the floor.

“Me too.”

It’s a little trippy that Dean spent Mother’s Day in a graveyard and had a pretty friggin awesome time – but everything with Cas is trippy, Dean’s learned. He likes that. He actually kind of loves it.

 

 

 


	12. Still a Soldier in My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is having a little trouble dealing with the whole "remembering fallen soldiers" thing. Call it Survivor's Guilt. Dean's not having it - Cas was obviously saved for a reason. For him. Romantic sex ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank my friend Jayne for this fic! She inspired me! I was going to write more (ie, not just a sex scene), but I started the day of my deadline, which was a very bad idea. Sorry it's late! And yes, the title is a reference from 'I'm Yours' by The Script.

Dean finds Cas in a gazebo in the park around the corner from their flat, curled up in on himself with his forehead on his knees. Dean walks over, irritated out of his skin because of how he’s worked himself up on the way over. He walks straight to Cas and grabs his shoulder, shoving him a little.

“What the hell, Cas?” he asks sharply, “I’m in the middle of grilling, I turn around and you’re gone, man? Our burgers are probably cold by now. I’ve been looking for you for an hour. What the  _fuck?_ ”

Then Dean realizes the way Cas is looking at him, some combination of angry and really, really upset. Dean’s caught a little off guard.

“You didn’t tell me what this holiday is truly about, Dean,” Cas says after a second of silence. “Fallen soldiers.”

This answer further serves to piss Dean off, and he gives Cas a level glare.

“Oh, so you’re pissed I lied and you run off on me? FYI, everybody barbecues and parties it up for Memorial Day. The meaning got lost a long time ago. Not an excuse to be a dick.”

Cas is silent for a very long time after that, and Dean feels vindicated. By default, Cas obviously owes him make-up sex and Dean is topping the  _fuck_ out of him. Those are the rules.

“I know so many fallen soldiers,” Cas says finally, “So why me? Why do I get to live when so many of my brothers have fallen? Why have I been brought back when so many…”

… Oh. That explains it.

“No, Cas,” Dean says immediately, shaking his head, realization dawning on him, “No, no, no. Shut up.”

Cas looks at Dean blankly, shaking his head slowly with an even, awful smile. Dean’s heart clenches in his chest. This angel – this warrior of God, who fought his way through hell and helped save the goddamn world – he’s seriously having survivor’s guilt right now?

“You wouldn’t understand, Dean. Your brother is alive – you went to hell to save him. I did… I did  _nothing_ to save my brothers. I killed many of them myself. Why do I deserve to –“

Dean can’t take this, can’t hear another second because Cas is  _so wrong_ and Dean’s so bad with words that he doesn’t know how to tell him that in a way he’ll believe. He kisses Cas instead, full on the mouth and slightly desperate in the way only someone whose heart is breaking a little can be. Cas’ eyes widen; he doesn’t reciprocate, just lets Dean ravage his mouth and clench at the lapels of his jacket. He looks confused when Dean pulls away and searches Cas’ blue eyes like he’s hoping his kiss might have fixed it.

Of course, it didn’t. Dean scowls.

“You’re – shut up, Cas, Christ,” he says, shaking a little at Cas’ trench coat, “You think you’re the only one who’s watched soldiers die when you should have? Ellen, Jo, my dad… why am I alive, Cas? Why are any of us alive? You tried to stop this war. If anyone deserves to live, it’s you.”

Cas looks uncertain, though not entirely unreceptive. Dean takes the initiative to kiss Cas again, and this time Cas kisses back, hot and heavy like they’re not in a damn park on Memorial Day. To be fair, the gazebo is secluded in a faraway section of the park, shaded heavily by a circle of trees and Dean decides right away that he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Love you, Cas,” Dean says between kisses, “God, I love you. So glad you’re alive, Cas, so glad I’ve got you.”

This causes Cas to pause and look at Dean in that deep way he always does, like he’s looking past Dean’s skin into his soul or something.

“I love you as well, Dean.” And then they’re kissing again.

Cas ends up in Dean’s lap, mouthing and biting at his neck urgently, sucking bruising kisses over the hickeys that are already there, just starting to fade. Dean gets looks for them all the time, on the streets, in the grocery store, everywhere, and he loves it. He fucking loves it. He wishes he could show off his handprint scar, show everyone who he  _belongs to_ , who called dibs on his ass in hell… but he can’t. This is the closest he’ll get and he loves it.

Cas’ hands slide under Dean’s shirt and they’re everywhere, slipping up and down Dean’s torso, clawing at him. This is Cas showing Dean that he’s grateful, Dean realizes. Dean actually  _helped,_ put something into perspective, made something  _click_ for a second. It’s usually Cas making things better, and Dean revels in being important for a minute.

Cas tugs at the edges of Dean’s shirt, willing him to take it off and it’s a little weird because they’re in a park, for God’s sake, but Dean goes with it because Cas needs it and he needs it a little, too. Dean’s got soldiers in his rearview mirror, too, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like Cas is feeling, sometimes. Like he’s wasn’t worth saving, like someone else should have gotten to live instead.

But he’s got Cas, and here and now and all he can do is that whoever there is to thank that he survived for moments like  _this_. Dean lets Cas pull off his shirt and then he’s pulling off Cas’ jacket and shirt, too. His nails ghost up and down Cas’ back, teasing, and Cas whimpers.

“You’re my favorite soldier, Cas,” Dean breathes slightly aware that it’s a stupid sentiment that makes no sense.

“I am somewhat broken, Dean. I’m not an angel anymore. Not a soldier.”

“Still a soldier to me,” Dean says – and gasps, because Cas is biting at his ear in a way that is sinfully perfect from practice and the fact that he just  _knows_ Dean in a way no drunken hookup ever could. “Love that you’re mine. Love that I’ve got you, that you’re here. I think you were brought back for  _me_.” Sometimes Dean is a little stunned at how much of a girl he’s become. Then he sees the way Cas looks at him when he says this kind of cheesy shit, and he forgets to be embarrassed.

Cas fingers are on Dean’s zipper and Dean can feel his heart hammering in his chest, pulse going crazy. A sudden thought strikes him and he groans, irritated.

“Save it for the bedroom, baby,” Dean says, breathless, “no lube here.”

“Not a baby Dean,” Cas growls, reaching for his discarded jacket. He produces a packet of lube and Dean’s dick goes from interested to  _very interested_ in about two seconds flat. He raises an eyebrow at Cas.

“In your pocket? Seriously?”

“I think of you often,” Cas says, by means of explanation, “How I want you, where I want you… it makes sense to be prepared, should the opportunity arise for those-“

“Shit, Cas, you’re fucking killing me here,” Dean says, because Jesus  _Christ_ , Cas is basically admitting to the fact that he fantasizes about Dean all the time and that he’s game to fuck pretty much anywhere. The idea has Dean’s blood running hot.

Cas’ fingers are at Dean’s zipper again, pulling it open and tugging Dean’s jeans and boxers down below his ass. The wooden floor of the gazebo feels extremely weird but Dean ignores it because Cas’ hands are on Dean’s dick too fast for him to care. Dean throws his head back, hitting the gazebo wall with his head. Cas chuckles and the sound of the packet of lube opening sends a tiny bit of electricity coursing through Dean’s system. It’s wet and slippery on Dean’s dick and borderline unbearable. Dean’s slightly desperate to be inside Cas right about now.

Dean tugs at Cas’ jeans and pulls them down, urging Cas on. Cas awkwardly gets on his knees so he can pull his jeans all the way off – in a fucking  _park,_ Jesus  _Christ_ – and then Dean’s got a lap full of naked angel and it’s slightly overwhelming. Because, again. Park.

“Right here, Cas?” Dean asks, tone smug and slightly awed, “Want me so bad you need me right here, where anyone can see us?” This is borderline dirty talk which isn’t normally Dean’s style, but he is so far past caring it doesn’t even matter. And if the way Cas’ voice is coming short and shallow is any indication, it’s doing it for him, too.

“I can cross it off my list,” Cas says – and that’s it, that’s a wrap, Dean is  _so_  done with the slow buildup thing. He plucks the lube from Cas’ hand and slicks his fingers up with the rest of it. Cas’ eyes flutter and he rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder, voice doing all sorts of obscene things.

It’s more than a little awkward trying to prep Cas at this angle, but Cas’ quiet whimpers and near-moans are making up for it by far. He squirms, pushing down into Dean’s fingers, mouth forming an ‘o’ against Dean’s neck.

“No more, please, Dean, let me ride you –“

“You’re killing me here, man-“

“Get inside me, Dean. Now.”

Dean’s nothing if not a soldier, and he’s not going to disobey a direct order when it’s so damn insistent. He slips his fingers out, eliciting a soft hiss from Cas. Cas wastes no time, pressing close to Dean and pushing onto him. Dean’s head hits the gazebo again and he moans, vaguely aware that he’s way too loud for their current location. They’ve never tackled this position before and good  _God_ does this pressure feel good.

Then Cas is moving, pulsing his hips like a pro and Dean’s hands are everywhere, scratching and pulling. They end up in Cas’ hair, tugging in a way that he knows is just shy of painful (just how Cas likes it). Cas breath chokes and Dean knows he’s hit his prostrate. His thrusts become slightly less calculated, then, breath punctuated by sinful noises that are making Dean a little crazy. His arms wrap around Cas’ waist and he tugs him close. Cas’ chest his heaving against his, shuddering over and over. Dean loves being this close to Cas, feeling his heartbeat, especially during sex. It’s trust in its highest form, gripping each other like this, nearly clinging. He kisses Cas, gasping all the while, and every flex of Cas’ hips is love, love, love. It should be weirder than it is.

But it isn’t.

One of Dean’s hands finds Cas’ dick and it’s all whimpers, then, just a mess of incoherency and whispered nonsense pleas and Dean’s actually caught off guard when he comes. Cas follows shortly after, splattering across Dean’s chest and they’re in a fucking  _park_  and it’s  _awesome_. Cas keeps kissing Dean through their orgasms, one hand on Dean’s face and the other carding through his hair.

Cas presses his cheek against Dean’s and brings his mouth to Dean’s ear in a tiny whisper.

“I am glad I’m alive, Dean. You make me happy to be alive.”

“Me too, Cas,” Dean says, chuckling and out of breath. “Me too.”

“Happy Memorial Day, Dean.”

“Happy Memorial Day, Cas.”

Dean kisses Cas’ nose with a smile.

… and that’s when the cop walks by.

*

Fin


	13. Like Twilight, Only Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel muses sleepily about Dean and fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this little black notebook I take everywhere and sometimes cheesy things get written.

Dean is beautiful in sleep.

 

Castiel always wakes up first, eyes flickering open the moment golden light slips through curtained windowpanes to kiss his eyelids. It’s nearly summer, now, and Castiel gets less sleep than he used to, what with the sun’s prompt rising. Castiel doesn’t mind, though. It gives him a few more quiet moments to watch Dean.

 

Castiel is propped up on an elbow, sitting up slightly so his eyes can roam all over his lover’s sleeping form. He’s tracing patterns absently in Dean’s skin, some of them meaningless shapes and others Enochian words with meanings so profound the English language could not begin to express them. His touch is a ghost, feather light. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s shoulder and leans back again. He has a small smile on his lips, the kind only Dean can pull out of him, even in slumber. Sometimes Castiel marvels at how he never once smiled in all his thousands of years of existence – and now he does it so often, so easily. All because of Dean.

 

Dean twitches slightly in his sleep – dreaming, Castiel knows. Castiel often wishes he could visit Dean’s dreams, like he used to. If only just to observe. For so long after the apocalypse, Dean had terrible dreams. Dean does not know that Castiel knows this. Dean used to thrash about on the couch, whisper his brother’s name under his breath in a panic. Castiel would lie awake in his bed – sleep came with great difficulty, those first months – and wonder whether or not to wake Dean and save him from his imagined terrors. It had not been Castiel’s place, back then. Dean doesn’t thrash about in his sleep anymore, but Castiel still worries.

 

Dean shifts in his sleep and unconsciously wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist. Castiel lays down and lets himself get pulled in. Their legs tangle up, as they always do. Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s jaw and lets his lips linger there, against his lover’s skin. Skin – skin that Castiel himself knit back together, restored from a decaying mass of shredded oblivion. Beneath this skin is Dean’s soul – also battered, though Castiel had been unable to knit  _that_ back together wholly. It is still very worn at the edges, littered with scars, more than a bit broken from so many years of ceaseless torture. Castiel did the best he could. He has seen Dean’s soul, exposed and raw and throbbing in the fiery depths of perdition, and he thinks that it is beautiful. Castiel slips a hand over the scar he left on Dean when he bound Dean’s soul to flesh. He likes to think he is close to Dean’s soul when he does this.

 

Chest pressed to warm chest, Castiel cannot get over the idea that he was crafted for this very purpose. Every angel is designed with a specific function to perform. All are soldiers, certainly, but on an individual level, each has a role he is built for. Some are strategists of war, others are researchers. Some, like Anna, are stationed on Earth to study its humans for thousands of years. Castiel always thought that was his role, as well. Angels are rarely told their purpose until it is necessary for them to know. For thousands of years, Castiel did not know that his purpose was to meet Dean.

 

And, perhaps, to fall in love.

There is a certain joy an angel experiences when he discovers his piece in the grand scheme of the universe. Castiel thinks, perhaps, this is why Anna fell. She must have had some higher purpose she had not yet been able to fulfill. Her being felt incomplete and her restless spirit, in an anxious fleet of fear over the infinity of a purposeless existence, caused her to tear out her Grace. Castiel had never understood it, not until long after he was assigned to save Dean from hell. Only in hindsight has Castiel realized how empty he had been before he was told  _why_ he was created. He sympathizes with Anna, now.

 

… He does not grieve her death, though. She nearly killed his Winchesters. That is an irredeemable offense.

 

Dean would claim free will brought them together, but a small piece of the lingering soldier in Castiel still wonders if it was fate, or some divine will. The part of him that is still a son dares to hope his Father ordained this. Castiel cards his hands through Dean’s hair and he feels that this is  _right_.  It was right to rebel, to fight for this. If nothing else, Castiel was crafted to save Dean. Who is to say that Dean was not crafted to save Castiel, as well?

 

Dean stirs again, and this time he turns to face Castiel. His green eyes flicker open slowly, and he smiles. He often smiles when he wakes up to see Castiel already awake, looking at him.

 

“Hey, Sunshine,” he grumbles, still sleepy, and presses a kiss to Castiel’s nose. Castiel wrinkles his nose, but returns Dean’s smile.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

“You’re a creep, you know that? Going all Edward Cullen on me, watching me sleep.” His tone is fond, though.

 

“Perhaps. It is worth the indulgence, I think. I believe I understand his motivations.”

 

“Hey! I’m totally not the Bella in this relationship.”

 

“Perhaps we should stop comparing ourselves to bad fiction.”

 

“Agreed. Hey – I got an idea. Let’s get you a new sweater today, hmm?” Dean’s eyes are flickering shut again and he’s mumbling now, nuzzling against his pillow.

 

“It’s June, Dean.”

 

Dean waves his hand in the air passively, dismissing the statement.

 

“Mh. Cardigan, then.”

 

_“June.”_

 

“Sweater vest?”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Uhh – I don’t know, hideous cardigan sweater vest?”

 

Castiel smiles.

 

“I would like that.”

 

Yes – this, all of this, is definitely  _right_.

 


	14. Daddy Issues are So Last Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Father's Day, and Cas hasn't really come to terms with the whole "absent Father" thing. He's perfectly content to mope the whole holiday, but Dean - master of all father related issues - has other plans. The resulting holiday experience involves a lot of alcohol... but not in the way that you'd think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm pretty sure this fic will live in infamy as "The Fic Rae Wrote Entirely Out of Her Ass". I was given a wonderful idea by a reader, but the extent of my knowledge was literally limited to whatever Google could tell me. I have a feeling I got some major details wrong - so if you're familiar with the subject, please be easy on me! See end of the fic for more notes.

It’s 85 degrees Fahrenheit out, and Dean’s shivering. He’s wearing the thickest pair of sweats he owns and is sitting on the couch, swaddled in a blanket. His nose feels cold, and he wrinkles it several times before pulling the blanket over his face. Through the fabric, he glares in Cas’ general direction.

“Cold enough for you, Cas?” he asks sarcastically, irritated.

Cas, on the contrary, looks practically gleeful. He’s wearing a giant, oversized ugly sweater that is hideous, even for his standards. It’s striped with weird, clashing colors and Dean doesn’t understand how anyone in any universe could ever think they went together. Worse than the colors, though, is the fact that there’s a pile of kittens along the side of the sweater, each with button eyes. The look in Cas’ eyes when he discovered it at their local thrift store had been, in Dean’s opinion, borderline manic. Currently, Cas is sitting beside Dean on the couch, surrounded by a pile – a literal  _pile_ – of sweaters they picked up earlier today. ‘Content’ doesn’t begin to describe it. He’s humming some indecipherable tune under his breath and Dean only sees Cas this blissed out after sex.

… He’s slightly jealous that a pile of sweaters could put that same look on Cas’ face, but whatever.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, oblivious to Dean’s sarcasm, “I can now comfortably wear my sweaters.”

“Cas. It’s June. You’re not  _supposed_ to be able to wear your sweaters.”

“I see no reason why not if we have such a powerful air conditioning unit.”

“Because I’m friggin freezing, Cas, that’s why.” Dean’s pretty sure the temperature in the house is well below 65.

“You’re welcome to one of my sweaters, Dean.”

Dean groans.

“I’m taking you to Sweaters Anonymous or something.”

“To… what?”

“It’s like – nevermind. Get under the blanket with me and make it warmer.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean can hear in the angel’s voice how pleased he is.

Dean lifts up the edge of the covers and Cas cuddles in close, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist as Dean covers them up again. Cas resumes his quiet humming, and Dean smiles.

“Y’know, Cas. There’s another holiday coming up. Got any big plans for Father’s Day? And – I’m saying this right now, man, no more graveyard holidays. Sam and I came to terms with Dad’s death, okay? We saw him like, climb out of hell. I think we’re good.”

Cas goes taut and tense and Dean raises an eyebrow, confused. Holiday talk usually makes Cas light up even more than sweaters. Dean’s confusion intensifies when Cas remains silent, unmoving, for several moments more.

“Cas?”

“I’m sure you and Sam will find a suitable way to spend this holiday, Dean,” Cas says at last, in a quiet, even tone that is carefully stoic. “I have no desire to participate.”

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean asks, irritated, because holidays are  _Cas’ thing_ , not Dean’s, and the only reason he even mentions them is because of Cas. He’s not sure why it stings that Cas is casually dismissing such a big holiday, but it does. The only reasoning Dean can think of that Cas might be having is a general dislike for John… which is seriously fucked up, and Dean won’t have it. “Do you have a problem with my dad? Because Dad might have been a lot of things, but he sure as –“

“Dean. John Winchester raised the two most important men in my life. I bear him no ill will. He deserves for you and Sam to celebrate him.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “But not you?”

Cas is silent again, which is beyond irritating.  
  
“Cas,” Dean barks. When he meets Cas’ eyes, he finds the former-angel glaring.

“Not everyone has a father worth celebrating, Dean. I  _apologize_  if I lack the conviction for celebrating a holiday manifest to remind me of my own father’s shortcomings.” His tone is scathing and sharp, and Dean is taken aback.

Sometimes Dean forgets that Cas has daddy issues, too, and that he lost just as much as Dean – if not more – in the wake of the would-be apocalypse. He lost his faith in his father, for one, which was once his most defining characteristic. No wonder he’s not big on the whole Father’s Day idea. Dean kind of feels like a dick, now.

“Easy, buddy,” Dean says gently, completely off the offence now. He presses a kiss to Cas’ head, nose nuzzled in the other man’s soft, dark hair. “We don’t have to celebrate Father’s Day.”

“Yes you do, Dean,” Cas says, tone unchanging, “Your father was a good man.”

“Well,” Dean replies, “Yours wasn’t.

“This is not up for discussion,” Cas says tersely, shifting to find the edge of the covers so he can get out of their blanket cocoon. “I will not be responsible for Sam losing this time with you. I will be content at home on that day. I’m done talking about this now.”

“Yeah, well I’m not,” Dean retorts, but Cas is already leaving the couch. A couple minutes later, Dean hears the shower running. He leans back against the couch and sighs. As his anger inevitably wanes, he spares a moment of vague amusement over the fact that their flat is so tiny that taking a shower is pretty much one of the only places they can get away from each other. He muses briefly over the idea of a bigger flat – or a house, even. He shakes the thought immediately. Houses require mortgages, mortgages require jobs, and jobs are for civilians. Dean is no civilian. This flat is just a nicer version of a motel and Dean and Cas are just playing normal. There are no mortgages in their future.

Dean takes the opportunity to dart out of his blanket fortress and shut off the A/C before Cas gets out of the shower. He grabs the covers and plops into bed, hiding under them and pretending to sleep in order to divert any possible repercussions from Cas. Dean hears the bathroom door open, followed by a short sharp bitchy noise that is clearly irritation on Cas’ part. He doesn’t turn on the A/C, though.

Dean waits, expecting Cas to come to bed eventually, but he doesn’t. The lights get turned off and eventually the TV, too, but Cas doesn’t join Dean. Finally, Dean sits up and looks around in the dark. Cas is on the couch, asleep, something he only does when he’s pissed. The son of a bitch is  _pouting_.

“Real mature, Cas,” Dean mutters before laying back down and going to sleep.

*

Cas is gone when Dean wakes up, and Dean decides he’s had enough of his fallen angel being a brat. Dean hasn’t summoned an angel in a while – he hasn’t had to, there’s only one angel he cares about and he’s not an angel anymore – so Dean has nearly forgotten how to do it. He messes it up twice before he finally gets it right. The telltale sound of feathers swooshing announces Gabriel’s arrival.

“Dean-o! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gabriel is shirtless, clad only in an American flag patterned boxers and a pair of Uggs. He’s holding a martini glass which seems to be full of Jell-O.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean asks, gesturing to Gabriel’s outfit.

“You’re better off not knowing. What is it you want? I was in the middle of something.”

Dean decides to let it go. “Cas is pouting. I have no idea where he is right now.”

Gabriel groans and rolls his eyes. “You brought me here to play relationship counselor for you and your husband?” He snorts. “Somehow I think I’m the wrong person for the job.”

Dean shakes his head. “We’re not – whatever, it’s not a relationship thing. It’s Father’s Day.”

“Ohhh,” Gabriel says knowingly, nodding. “Cas is going all boohoo over his daddy issues, I’m guessing?”

“Pretty much. I figured since you guys have the same dad, you could talk him out of it.”

Gabe plops onto the couch, rummaging through the cushions for the remote.

“I don’t know, Dean-o. Dad really screwed him over. I’m not sure if talking about his feelings is going to solve anything. Got any candy?”

“No, we don’t,” Dean mutters, annoyed. “Listen, I’m not saying God’s not a dick – he is. I’ll be the first guy to tell you that. But we gotta help Cas get over this. I don’t do holidays without Cas, and Cas is making me do Father’s day – ”

“ _Making_ you?” Gabriel asks with a wicked grin, miming a whipping motion.

“– so we’re kind of at a road block here,” Dean grits out, scowling at Gabriel’s implication. “At least try to talk to him? Please?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabriel says with a wave of his hand, “just go buy me some chocolate.”

“Fine,” Dean says. “Don’t touch anything while I’m out.”

*

Dean comes back with a bag of mini Snickers and a tub of fudge ice cream. When he arrives, the house is at subarctic temperatures and Castiel is there sitting on the couch beside Gabriel, wearing another sweater. This one has cats, too, and Dean wonders vaguely whether or not their bunny is offended by this abundance of cat sweaters. Dean makes a mental note to buy Cas a new sweater with a rabbit on it… then bristles at how impossible, irrevocably gay he’s become. He’s seriously thinking about the  _emotional wellbeing_  of their pet  _bunny_.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says uneasily, slipping in the front door. For once he’s grateful for the chill; it’s hot as hell outside. Dean’s pretty sure the candy’s already starting to melt. He tosses the bag to Gabriel, who catches it eagerly, and places the ice cream on the coffee table.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, averting his eyes.

“We were just talking,” Gabriel says as he rips apart a candy wrapper with excessive force due to his enthusiasm, “about Dad.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, feeling friggin awkward. He kind of wants to turn tail and walk out the way he came. He hadn’t expected Cas to beat him home.

“Yes. Gabriel was telling me what Father is like. He’s one of the few who have actually met him.” There’s a barely-there note of bitterness that Dean picks up on, but he notices that Cas is hiding it fairly well.

Dean walks across the room and takes a tentative seat on the bed, facing the two brothers. “So, uh, what’d he tell you?”

“That Father is childish and selfish,” Cas says, and Dean glares at Gabriel. Gabriel just smiles.

“What the hell, Gabe?”

“Wasn’t lying,” Gabriel says, shrugging.

“He also told me that Father loves us,” Cas goes on. “He pointed out that he’s brought me back… many times. Gabriel as well.”

Dean nods. He’s not entirely comfortable with the whole ‘forgiving God for fucking everything up’ thing, but he supposes that’s why he called Gabriel here. To say the things Dean couldn’t because of bias.

“Most importantly, though,” Cas says, “Father gave me you. And Sam, as well. I may not forgive him, but… I do respect that he tried. He allowed me to have my prize. I will try not to…” Cas’ voice trails off, but Dean figures the unspoken words are ‘hate him’.

Dean is turning red a little – in a very manly way, of course – because of what Cas just said, how Cas described him. As a prize, something desirable and worth having. Dean looks away, looks at his hands, because he’s not sure how to process those remarks. He can feel Gabriel smirking in his direction and he tries to focus on the fact that the dick just helped him out here.

“So you’ll do Father’s Day with me and Sam?” Dean asks hopefully, once he’s managed to recover from Cas’ offhand compliments.

Cas nods. “I will not be celebrating my Father, but I am willing to do participate.”

Gabriel abruptly stands and grabs the tub of ice cream from the table.

“My work here is done,” he announce, “You’re welcome, Dean.” And then he’s gone, invisible wings flapping audibly as he leaves.

“You called Gabriel,” Cas remarks.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“You must have been quite desperate.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like it when you’re angry at me. Especially when I didn’t, y’know, _do_  anything.”

Cas is quiet a moment, looking at Dean. Dean looks back, like he always does. Like he always has, ever since their first few staring contests so long ago.

“I believe this means I owe you ‘make-up sex’,” Cas says finally, and Dean’s mouth flickers into a devious grin.

“You believe right, baby.”

Cas wrinkles his nose. “Not a baby, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You make me say stupid shit when you turn me on. I’m not at all responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth from now until 20 minutes post-orgasm.” He wraps his arms around Cas and tugs him close, pressing their bodies together.

 

“Hmm. I would like to hear more of this ‘stupid shit’,” Cas says in a low voice, invading Dean’s personal space. “Tell me how you’d like me, Dean.”

Dean swallows hard.

“Let’s start with on your  _knees,_ ” Dean supplies in a voice that is slightly more choked than he’d like. When Cas immediately complies, kneeling to the ground instantly, obediently, Dean can’t help but think that fights with Cas seriously are  _not_ that bad.

*

_“I was thinking we could go out to eat in his honor or something,”_ Sam says through the phone. Dean’s driving along a dark road miles and miles from home and Sam’s on speaker. Castiel is holding the phone and looking at it curiously with his brow wrinkled, as though he’s been thrown a curveball and he’s not sure how to react. Apparently he’s never seen the speakerphone feature before.

“Isn’t that kind of… lame?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows at the phone. He hears Sam chuckle.

“Our parents are dead, Dean,” he says flatly. “Our options are kinda limited.”

Dean laughs. “Story of our lives, Sammy. Dinner it is. Do we have to get dressed up?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas cuts in, “it should be formal.” Dean frowns.

“Why? I hate wearing monkey suits, I just end up feeling like I’m about to impersonate a fed.”

“Because I  _like_ you in suits,” Cas replies, adding suggestive emphasis on the ‘like’. Dean swallows and Sam clears his throat.

“Little brother on the line, people. I seriously don’t want to hear where this conversation is going.”

Dean catches sight of a forlorn woman on the side of the road far ahead, wearing a white dress and looking up and down the road. He jerks his head in her direction, getting Cas’ attention.

“Well, you’re in luck, Sammy. We’ve just got sight of the Woman in White we’re after. I’ll have to call you back.”

“A Woman in White? Wow. We haven’t hunted one of those in… years.”

“Right? It’s actually kinda nostalgic.”

“How do you keep getting cases, anyway? How many hunts can one area have?”

“We’re actually in Maryland right now,” Dean replies, and he hears Sam snort.

“Maryland? Getting a little desperate, guys?”

“Yeah, shut up. Not everyone can just plop back into civilian life like you. If that means we have to drive a couple miles to gank a son of a bitch… well, so be it.”

The Woman in White is just ahead, and Dean slows down his car.

“Talk to you later, Sam,” Dean says.

“Goodbye, Sam,” Cas adds just as Sam says “Seeya, guys.” Cas ends the call without further ceremony.

Dean pulls to a stop in front of the Woman, who approaches the car.

“Need a lift?” Dean asks with an easy smile. He scans the area behind her, looking for something. The woman’s bones have been salted and burned; he and Cas figure she’s only around because she has some leftover possession from when she was alive left out here. He glances at Cas and sees his eyes light up – he’s seen something Dean hasn’t. Cas is out of the car in a second, wielding a lighter. The ghost pays him no mind, taking the opportunity to climb into Cas’ recently vacated seat.

“Hey, sugar,” Dean says to keep her busy. She looks at him with doleful eyes before she’s pressing close, trying to make a move on Dean. Dean isn’t exactly sure what he should do – he needs to keep her occupied while Cas is working on getting rid of her – but he sure as hell doesn’t want to kiss her. He squirms after a second of her trying to force him to reciprocate her eerily cold, ghostly kisses and shoves her off.

She looks nothing short of deranged at his aggressive rejection. Thankfully, she erupts into flames just as Dean’s starting to get a little concerned. Outside the car, Dean can see Cas silhouetted by another flame, where whatever they were searching for is burning. The ghost finally disappears and Cas climbs into the car.

“That was lame,” Dean remarks, “we never get anything like, challenging anymore.”

“We’re just very good at what we do,” Cas replies, giving Dean a small smile as Dean puts the car into drive.

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “Sometimes I think we should go back on the road again, man.”

Cas frowns.

“What about my candles?” he asks seriously, brow furrowed with concern. Dean can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Dean’s suggesting uprooting their entire life, everything they’ve built here, and Cas’ first thought is his  _candles_.

“Y’know, I think Sunshine would be appalled at your priorities, Cas,” Dean says, and Cas reddens, looking out the window.

“Naturally we’ll take her with us…” he mumbles, and Dean raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“Whoa, whoa, Cas. You know I’m not serious, don’t you? We’re not moving just ‘cause I’m bored. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Now Cas looks surprised.

“Oh,” is all he says, and Dean’s stomach feels a little weird at the thought that Cas could believe so easily that Dean would be capable of being so selfish. He’s bored out his mind, yeah, but that’s nowhere near enough cause to undo everything they have.

“Maybe I just need a job or something,” Dean says offhand, just thinking out loud. Cas tilts his head and looks at him curiously.

“Like a civilian?”

“No!” Dean says indignantly, immediately. “Well. I don’t know,” he concedes after a moment, “Maybe. As a side thing. Just to keep busy or whatever.” Dean is gripping the steering wheel much more tightly than is strictly necessary and his knuckles are subsequently going pale.

“I see,” is all Cas says, and it’s incredibly unnerving. As well as he can read Cas, he still often has no idea what the hell the angel is thinking.

*

When Dean wakes up the following day, Cas isn’t there. He treks sleepily into the kitchen to find a note on the fridge that says “ _Gone food shopping – will make brunch upon return”_ and he scowls. He’s hungry as hell and there’s no Cas to make him breakfast. Upon further inspection, Dean finds the cupboards bare of cereal and the fridge devoid of any other substantial breakfast items. He figures Cas probably set out to make breakfast and wasn’t able to, so he decided to dart off to the store while Dean was asleep. While Dean appreciates the effort, he’s still hungry and sort of wishes they could of just gone to a diner or something instead.

He settles for a cup of coffee and waits, cradling the mug in his hands as he leans over the table tiredly. They don’t have a clock in the kitchen, so Dean has no idea how much time passes. He is aware that it’s much too long, though, and he gets more and more irritated as time goes on.

Finally,  _finally_ Cas returns with an array of bags on his arms, at least five bags to each arm. Dean’s out of his chair and across the room to help Cas in a second – damn angel always insists on trying to carry the whole damn load of shopping bags in on his own. Cas smiles gratefully, but Dean doesn’t return it.

“I’m hungry. Why’d it take you so long?”

“Good morning to you too, Dean,” Cas replies. Dean takes a moment to enjoy the fact that Cas is learning the joys of sarcasm.

“I was talking to a German man,” Cas goes on, and Dean’s instantly on red alert. Germans are (usually) hot, and he doesn’t like the idea of Cas talking to one when he’s not around. He swallows the surge of overprotectiveness that has just rushed to the surface, reminding himself that he usually ends up looking like a dick when he gets like that. Cas is usually oblivious to when he’s being hit on, anyway, and most people hitting on him take it as a rebuff. Dean doesn’t really have anything to worry about.

“Yeah? And what did the German dude say that was so important that it delayed my breakfast two hours?”

“You’re coming very close to treating me like a housewife again, Dean,” Cas says in a warning tone, and Dean shuts up. He distinctly remembers the last time Cas got this impression from him. The result had included two pairs of handcuffs, several very large bruises and a level of orgasm denial that was just shy of being unbearable. Cas is creative when he’s pissed.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles, looking at the ground.

“The German man asked me directions, at first. He’s new to this country and could not find very many people in this area who speak German. Thankfully, I was there-“

“Whoa, you speak German?”

Cas looks at him funny.

“Of course, Dean. I speak every language.”

A very vivid mental image of Cas doing his awkward dirty talk thing in a variety of different languages comes to Dean’s mind, and he grins. He is so,  _so_  trying that out. He makes a mental note to ask later.

“Good to know,” he says with a wink, and Cas looks even more confused. He doesn’t acknowledge the statement, though.

“We happened to be walking in the same direction. He told me about Father’s Day in Germany. Männertag. It is… different than ours. In fact, I can’t think of anything paternal about it. In fact, if I were a father I would never consider participating.”

Dean’s caught off guard by this statement – he’s suddenly picturing Cas with his own child. Cas as someone’s  _dad_. He thinks back to Lyric, the little girl they met in the park that one day several weeks ago. Cas had been so cautious and protective, telling Dean to slow down when he was pushing her on the swing. Dean also remembers the distinctly disappointed look on Cas’ face when the girl’s mother called and told them she found a new daycare, but thanks anyway.

He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that the idea makes him feel warm all over. Naturally, because he’s Dean, he shoves the feeling deep down and plows onward.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” he asks, painfully aware that the lapse between the statement and his reply was too long. Cas doesn’t make any indication that he noticed, though.

“It involves hiking, a wheelbarrow, and copious amounts of alcohol.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Those don’t sound like a very good mix, man.”

Cas shrugs.

“Perhaps not. And I don’t see how it would be a celebration of John at all, but I am interested in experiencing it.” Of course he is. It’s a  _holiday_. “Naturally, we would bring Sam.”

“And Sarah?”

Cas shakes his head.

“It is… not that kind of holiday.”

Dean’s curiosity is more than piqued. Germans are weird. He’s pretty sure this holiday will be nothing short of the same.

“Are you gonna, like, explain it to me?”

Cas opens their laptop, which is sitting on the table, and taps it awake.

“I need to research it more, and then I will explain.”

Dean shuts the laptop on him.

“After breakfast.”

“But Dean-“

“ _After_. I’m a dick when I’m hungry.”

“Aren’t you always?” Cas jokes. Again, Dean’s proud that Cas has a sense of humor now. Dean likes to take full credit for that.

“Yeah, shut up. I can help, if you want,” he adds, just to reinforce the whole you-are-not-my-housewife thing. Dean can pull his weight.

“I would appreciate that. Would you begin dicing tomatoes for me?” Cas reaches for an apron – the St. Patrick’s Day one, for whatever reason – and puts it on. Dean smiles. He knows for a fact that Cas doesn’t  _need_  an apron to make breakfast.

“Should I get you a Father’s Day apron or something? Or like a sweater?”

Cas hesitates. “I am not a father, Dean.”

Dean snorts. “So what? You’re not Irish, either,” he says, gesturing to the  _‘Kiss me, I’m Irish!’_  apron Cas is wearing. “Besides, who cares what you wear? If you want one, I’ll get you one.”

Cas’ eyes light up.

“I would like that, Dean.”

The genuine pleasure in his angel’s voice is enough to have Dean tug him close for a kiss.

*

“I can’t find a single Internet article that has anything positive to say about Männertag,” Cas remarks. He’s sitting on the couch with his legs tucked under him, where he’s been for the past hour. Dean’s beside him, flipping through TV channels and bored as hell.

“What are they saying, then?”

“That it sets a poor example and should be done away with,” Cas says with a frown. “Perhaps I should be looking at German articles…”

“Well, bad ideas are essentially the Winchester way. If the Internet doesn’t want us to, I think it’s a pretty good reason to go for it.”

“Regardless of the connotations behind the articles, I think I have a general understanding of the holiday. It has many names –  _Vatertag_ and  _Herrentag_ , for example. It’s more of a ‘men’s day out’ than a celebration of fathers, apparently. It involves heavy drinking, often bar tours – but, no, there’s also the traditional version with hiking, which I much prefer –“

Dean grins, big and wide.

“Testosterone and alcohol? It sounds perfect.”

“… Should I call Sam?”

“Yes. Like right now.”

*

Sarah agrees not to complain about not being invited as long as the boys promise to go out to dinner with her afterwards in John’s honor. The conditions are that she picks the venue and what they wear, and they must be entirely sober when they arrive. They’ll be going to Sam and Sarah’s neck of the woods – upstate New York – for the dinner, so they have to plan their time accordingly. They’ll probably end up eating quite late, so Cas and Dean will crash at Sam and Sarah’s place for the night and leave the following day. In the meantime, Sarah can spend time with her own father.

Sam arrives in Philadelphia via train Sunday afternoon. He says the trip costs less because of gas and saves time because of traffic, especially because of the holiday, and he likes the scenery. Cas and Dean are there to pick him up when the train pulls in. Cas is wearing an oversized t-shirt with an awful striped design that says “HUG A FATHER TODAY” in big black text, in lieu of a sweater given the hot, sticky weather.

“Sammy!” Dean says enthusiastically, hugging his moose of a brother in a (manly) one-armed hug.

“Hey, Dean!” Sam says, grinning. Dean returns the grin.

Dean always loves the sight of his brother. A part of him – a bigger part than he’d like to admit, really – is still the codependent mess he’s always been. It feels weird not living with Sam anymore after growing so accustomed to it. It’s weird knowing Sam’s living a normal life, has a fiancée and is going to law school again. Some days Dean feels almost panicky when he looks around and sees a flat devoid of his little brother. Seeing an empty passenger’s seat when he looks over in the Impala is sometimes overwhelming. He’s still adjusting to an existence where Sam is his own person.

Cas helps with that, though. He has an uncanny ability to tell when these sorts of thoughts are creeping into Dean’s head. He catches the blank stares Dean gets sometimes when he’s reliving something and can pick up on the subtle clench of Dean’s fists when he’s struggling with a feeling he can’t deal with. And most of all, Cas organizes stuff like this – holidays that bring him together with his brother again. Dean knows he’d see much less of Sammy if not for Cas. He’s grateful.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says and shakes Sam’s hand. The sight is so awkward that Dean can’t help but laugh. Cas looks uncomfortable and Sam looks amused. He turns the handshake into a proper hug, which is equally awkward, and Dean’s tearing up from how hard he’s laughing by the time the whole ordeal is done with.

“So. Crazy German Testosterone Day, huh?” Sam asks.

“Männertag,” Cas says, like he’s correcting him.

“He’s very official about these things,” Dean says, chuckling. Sam nods.

“Right. Männertag. I take it you know where we’re going?”

Cas nods.

“Dean refuses to purchase a GPS-“

“We’re not douching up my baby!”

“-so I have printed it out via ‘MapQuest’. First, we need to pick up the wagon.”

“… Wagon?” Sam asks dubiously.

“The term is  _Bollerwagon,_  actually.

“Don’t question it, man,” Dean says, “there is literally no reasoning with him.”

They all head to the car, with both Sam and Dean snickering at the air of determination with which Cas walks.

*

“That is a hell of a lot of alcohol, Cas,” Dean says as they load the last of their supplies into the back of the Impala. Sam’s eyeing the trunk skeptically as well. Cas tilts his head at both of them.

“It’s not all alcoholic,” Cas explains, “While the Germans’ intent is to get excessively, indecently intoxicated, I would like us to remember this experience. Our cargo is half-full of nonalcoholic spirits.”

Sam looks relieved.

“Good thinking, Cas. I’m sure Sarah will appreciate it, too.”

“What’s with the wagon?” Dean inquires.

“ _Bollerwagon_ ,” Sam corrects, and Dean scowls.

“Not you, too,” he groans.

“When in Rome, Dean.”

“We’re not  _in_ Rome – or Germany, or wherever. We’re in friggin Pennsylvania.”

“The  _bollerwagon_ is to carry the alcohol,” Cas cuts in, look at Dean like he’s stupid. Which, yeah – stupid question.

“Wait a minute. Where are we going with all this shit again?”

Cas heaves a longsuffering sigh. Dean thinks he might vaguely remember having this conversation with Cas before. “Hiking,” he says simply, and both Dean and Sam look scandalized.

“… You want us to go hiking half-drunk carrying a heavy-as-hell wagon and be back in time to catch a train from Philadelphia to New York and get there sober?”

Cas nods. “Yes, Dean.”

Sam and Dean exchange looks.

“Well,” Sam says unsurely, “I guess we should get on our way, then.”

Cas looks pleased with a small, self-satisfied smile on his face. It makes Dean smile, too; Cas catches Dean’s expression and their eyes lock in that way they always do, unwavering and intense. It is, in many ways, the same look they shared when they first met and Cas boldly declared,  _“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”_ It  _is_ different in some ways, though – it’s still every bit as intense, but with a different type of intensity. Sam notices it and studiously looks away, busying himself with closing the trunk and letting himself into the car.

“Cas – I, uh –“

“Me too, Dean,” Cas replies, anticipating Dean’s words.

Sam abruptly beeps the horn and both men jump. They turn and find Sam laughing his ass off. Dean gives him the middle finger, but he’s laughing too – laughing because it’s friggin ridiculous and impossible and wonderful that he’s in love. Cas laughs a little too, in that awkward way of his. In this moment, Dean decides that there is no better feeling than laughing with the two most important people in his life.

*

They drop off the Impala at an overnight parking garage, much to Dean’s protests. They figure they’ll be unfit to drive by the time they’re done with their adventure, and they’ll have to rely on a cab to get them to the train station. They walk half a mile from the parking garage to their intended destination. About halfway through, Dean grabs Cas’ hand. No more than two minutes later, Sam catches sight, rolls his eyes and groans.

“Dean, come  _on_. I refuse to be the third wheel here.”

“Perks of dating a dude,” Dean says with a smirk, “he comes along for Man Day or whatever it’s called.” To emphasize his point, he presses a sloppy kiss to Cas’ cheek, mouth pressing against Cas’ stubble.

“Dean!” Sam exclaims irritably at the same time Cas interjects, “ _Männertag_ , Dean!”

“Christ,” Dean mutters, raising both hands in a sign of surrender.

They arrive at the bottom of the upward trail they’ll be taking. It’s steeper than Dean anticipated, and much more packed with trees and other plant life, making it shady. The trail is just wide enough for the wagon to fit comfortably. Dean stares down the path ahead and grabs a beer, cracking it open and chugging it down. Sam stares at trail for a moment as well before following suit. With a certain amount of hesitancy, Cas also grabs a beer. Both brothers are done quickly, and only after the empty bottles are tossed back into wagon do they face down their trail again.

“Tell me again why this is a good idea?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at Cas.

“It’ll be more fun the drunker we are, Dean. And hiking is great even when you’re not drunk, though. Y’know, nature, exercise –“

“Not everyone is a granola-crunching hippie weirdo like you, Sam. That’s  _not_  my definition of fun.”

“It will be fun, Dean. It is a German tradition,” he adds, like this is definitive proof that the holiday is best spent getting drunk marching upwards in a goddamn forest, or whatever this is.

“The wagon will take two people to pull,” Sam observes, “We can take shifts. I’ll take the first one.”

“I’ll help you,” Cas volunteers. Dean grabs another beer.

“And we’re off!” he says dramatically. He heads the group as they embark. To Dean’s surprise, he does start to enjoy himself right off the bat. There’s something about the sound of the wagon –  _bollerwagon_ , whatever – that gives the hike the right sort of rhythm and puts Dean at ease. Only a few minutes in, he forgets his complaints.

They talk about Dad. It’s not as awkward as it might have been a long time ago. The conversation comes easy; fond anecdotes float to the surface and they laugh. Dean realizes that sometimes he forgets all the good things amidst the bad things, and it feels good to talk about the better parts of their dad with Sam. There was drunkenness… but there were also piggy back rides and blasting mullethead 70s rock and driving for miles and miles. There were holidays their dad completely forgot about, but there were also ones where John tried – Dean distinctly remembers a Christmas with a two foot tall Christmas tree and a cheeseburger in his stocking. A _cheeseburger_. Sam doesn’t remember because he was too young, but he laughs at Dean’s tale anyway.

They joke lightly about what an awful parent he was, too. Dean tells them that Dad let Sam fall asleep covered in cake on his third birthday.  Sam tries to remember their first fight – they had  _so many_ – and he thinks it might have been over the length of his hair.

Cas, of course, can’t contribute to the conversation, but he is a quiet force beside the two brothers and does not seem unhappy. Dean looks at him often, makes sure to meet his eyes and scan them, searching for any underlying sadness. After all, Cas barely wanted to celebrate the holiday; it’s not like he knows enough of his father to tell them. Cas seems content, though, and returns all of Dean’s smiles.

They pause every now and then for more drinks, putting rocks behind the wagon’s wheels to keep it from sliding backward. With every drink the whole idea of this Männertag business sounds even more absurd and equally endearing. Cas’ good intentions with the nonalcoholic spirits would have worked better had the boys actually interspersed their alcoholic drinking and nonalcoholic, instead of digging through the wagon to find all the proper beers. The wagon is now full of empty bottles and virgin wine and beer.

During one of their breaks, while all three of them are sitting on the ground leaning against the wagon, Dean slings an arm lazily over Cas’ shoulders and kisses him.

“Yer my anjull,” he slurs, “and you make GOOD holldays ideas.” He mouths at Cas’ neck and Cas pushes him away gently.

“We have company, Dean. And thank you. No more alcohol from here on, though.” Cas has been drinking most of their nonalcoholic wine, and he is decidedly  _not_ drunk.

“Cas, you’re the best brother-in-law,” Sam says. He’s just as drunk as Dean but slightly more in charge of himself verbally. “Our dad is practically – practically, like, y’know –“

“Like your dad, too!” Dean cuts in.

Sam bursts into laughter.

“Man, we’re all so fucked.”

“John Winchesters’ kids,” Dean says, echoing Sam’s laughter, “’course werr fucked. Fucks’re middle name.”

“How are we even like – like,  _alive_ right now? I was – I was,  _was_ , what, 8 months when Mom died?”

“Six!” Dean says, and starts giggling. Cas looks from one brother to the other like a ping pong match as each one speaks.

“So like… six months. Didn’t I – I, need like bottles ‘n shit? Diapers. Diapers, too. Can dad change one o’ those? How am I not dead?”

“Bobby!” Dean says enthusiastically, gesturing dramatically to nothing with his hand. Sam immediately nods. They’re both quiet a moment before Dean nods again, suddenly.

“Yup. Bobby. We gotta call him. Is there connect- con… phone stuff out here? Connect… service, phone service. ‘s there phone service? We gotta call him, ‘s Father’s Day ‘n he taught us baseball.”

Sam turns and looks at Cas seriously. “Bobby is our other dad. I mean not like  _gay_ with our dad but he raised us basically-“

“Yes, I know. He is a good man,” Cas replies with an honest, fond smile. Dean likes that smile. It shows that Cas values Bobby as much as he and Sam do. “I am grateful you both had him.”

“Need a phone!” Dean says loudly. Cas rolls his eyes and plucks his phone from his pocket. All three lean close and Dean dials the number – which is thankfully on speed dial, so Dean can’t botch it.

_“This is Bobby Singer’s phone – I ain’t home, idjits, and if you’re gonna leave a message it better be good. I hate checking this damn thing.”_

“HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!” Dean shouts and Sam chimes it, equally loud. Cas clears his throat and adds, “Happy Father’s Day, Bobby,” once they’re done, and Dean laughs.

“Bobby, man, you shoulda been here. We have a  _wagon –a fuckin wagon –_ and fake wine and real wine and fuckin  _nature_ too… why do you live so  _far?_ ” Dean’s practically whining by the end of it.

“South Dakota is far,” Sam adds, in case Dean wasn’t clear enough.

“We think y’should MOVE,” Dean says emphatically, gesturing wildly.

“Move here, we have beaches,” Sam adds earnestly.

“I’d bake for you,” Cas adds feebly, quietly, and Dean almost kisses him again.

“Thanks for baseball, Bobby,” Dean says, and his voice is suddenly as firm as it can be considering the amount of alcohol in his system.

“Thanks for everything,” Sam says, and his voice is quiet.

“More of a father than Dad ever was,” Dean says after a moment. “So yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sam echoes.

“Bobby,” Cas says suddenly, “Thank you, as well. My father… well, you have shown me more care in the past two years than my father ever has.”

“That was deep, Cas-“ Dean starts.

_“Your message has reached its limit,”_ an automated voice says from the phone, followed by a loud and somewhat obnoxious beep.

“Sonofabitch,” Dean mutters, and Sam laughs.

“Bobby hates long messages.”

“I bet he’ll cry man-tears,” Dean says and this sets all three of them laughing, leaning back against the wagon until they feel it slip forward slightly, straining against the rocks holding it in place.

“We’re almost to the top,” Cas says, “let’s keep going.”

*

There’s a clearing at the top of the hill and they lay down in the grass, laying on their backs and watching the clouds roll by. Cas passes out water bottles before he lays down and instructs everyone to drink and aim for sobriety. They lie there for a while, staring at the sky and occasionally pointing out shapes. Dean’s holding Cas’ hand again, squeezing it tightly every now and then. A bit of Dean’s skin is exposed where his shirt rises up slightly, and Cas traces absent circles there. Sam doesn’t notice; his eyes have slipped shut and he looks close to sleep.

“This was cool, Cas,” Dean says after a long while, turning to look at his angel. “Thanks, man.”

“Thank you for humoring my whims,” Cas says, smiling contentedly, “I know they do sound strange sometimes.”

“Nah, I always know they’ll turn out awesome. You’re good at that.”

Cas looks very happy. His smile doesn’t widen or anything – because, in all fairness, it’s  _Cas_ and the guy doesn’t grin very often – but there’s something about his countenance that seems to glow or something. Dean likes it.

A telltale loud growling sound comes from Dean’s stomach and he smiles sheepishly.

“We should probably get going. Apparently, I’m hungry.”

Cas sits up abruptly, and Dean thinks briefly of a husky or something, jumping up at his owner’s command. Dean shakes the thought, though – he knows Cas would hate the comparison. It’s probably filed under the whole “housewife” thing. Instead of waking Sam or something, Cas walks over to the wagon and starts rummaging through it. He takes a large lunch bag – the kind used for picnics to keep food cool – out of the wagon. Dean hadn’t noticed it before.

“I brought food,” Cas explains, “traditional German sandwiches,  _Das Butterbrot_.”

Dean looks at Cas skeptically, because that doesn’t exactly sound appealing. Still, Cas is rarely wrong when it comes to food, so he tries to muster up some enthusiasm for it.

“ _Butterbrot_. Right. So what’s in it?”

“ _Aufschnitt,”_  Cas replies simply, like this explains it. Dean looks at him blankly. Cas sighs.

“That means ‘cold cuts.’  _Butterbrot_ is a type of sandwich that uses sourdough bread, made with rye.”

“… You’re lucky I trust you,” Dean says, eyeing the bag warily.

“It’s more than luck,” Cas says, sitting down as Dean sits up and gently shakes his brother.

“Wake up, Sam. There’s food. I mean, weird German food, yeah, but… food.”

Sam yawns and stretches. “Food sounds good right now. Even weird German food.”

“ _Butterbrot_ ,” Cas corrects.

“Gesundheit,” Sam responds, and Dean laughs.

“At least you got the right language.”

They all sit in a circle (more of a triangle, really), on a picnic blanket Cas has provided. Dean notes that it’s different than the one at the cemetery; this one has a plaid pattern of blue and green. Dean appreciates it. It’d good to separate this memory from that one, even in small ways. Dean’s not entirely sure why he feels like that, but he’s glad Cas shares the feeling.

As always, the food is awesome. It’s really different, but not so far out there that it doesn’t suit his palate. He’s pleasantly surprised that the opposite is true. Sam makes blissful noises and compliments Cas’ talent with food every other bite, and Cas looks like a little ball of positive energy. Dean leans over and presses a kiss to Cas’ hair, and Sam laughs.

“What?” Dean asks, inexplicably self-conscious.

“Nothing, Dean. It’s just… happiness looks good on you, man. Really good. All I’ve ever –“

“Dude. Could you be more gay?”

Sam gives him a look that is both incredulous and borderline bitchface.

“I don’t know, Dean, I could be dating a man and living with him and having – augh – gay sex all the time.”

Dean snickers.

“Still not as gay as you, man.”

Cas looks completely and utterly confused, and when both brothers realize this, they laugh some more (at Cas’ expense). Cas furrows his brow and tilts his head, which is damn adorable. Dean tugs him into a quick, awkward hug, and Cas looks at him with uncertainty. Dean doesn’t bother explaining his banter to Cas; he’s pretty sure it’s too far over the new-to-humanity angel’s head.

The laughter eventually dies down, with all three quietly enjoying their meal. Dean eats three and thankfully, Cas packed accordingly. He finishes eating after everyone else. Sam has been watching him since he finished his own food, his expression unreadable. Several times, he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again. Dean notices it and raises an eyebrow at his little brother. Cas must notice it, too, because he stands up.

“I am going to – uh – take a walk,” he says stiffly, and walks off before Dean can question it. Sam watches him go, biting the inside of his cheek. Finally, he speaks.

“Dean, I want you to know that this day isn’t just for you and Bobby.”

Dean is silent. He picks at the grass, studiously looking anywhere and everywhere but at Sam.

“I had one more father figure in my life, Dean.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sammy, I didn’t –“

“But you did, Dean.  _You_ made my dinner every night. You made sure I made it to school. You came to the spelling bees and the award nights – hell, I think you even came to a parent-teacher conference once. You kept me safe.” Sam’s voice cracks a little at the end, but he’s still looking at Dean earnestly.

“I was just doing my job,” Dean says, still staring at the ground.

“Exactly. Your job was to be my father when Dad wasn’t able to – which was  _all the time_. It was our whole life, Dean. You had to be both my dad and my brother.”

Sam reaches into one of his enormous pockets and Dean finally looks up.

“Sam, no –“

“Dean, yes. I got this for you. It’s nothing big or expensive, so don’t let your macho pride get bruised.” He hands Dean a little box from his pocket, wrapped in the Sunday newspaper comics. Dean knows it’s just because of tradition, now, and no longer out of necessity. He smiles despite himself.

“Bitch,” he mutters as he takes the gift.

“Jerk,” Sam replies brightly with a grin.

The present within the little box is simple, but Dean loves it immediately. It’s a leather bracelet, almost wide enough to be called thick, but not quite. A silver pentagram is embedded in the band. Dean loves it because he can always wear it, just like his amulet. He’ll never throw it out, either. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean says quietly, putting the bracelet on his left hand.

“Happy Father’s Day, Dean.”

*

Needless to say, the downward journey is much easier than the upward one was. The only constant annoyance is the wagon, which keeps trying to scoot downward faster than they can walk. After the third time the wagon hits the back of his heel, Dean suggests they hop in and ride it down rollercoaster style. Sam and Cas stare at Dean with matching expressions of disbelief.

“I value my life, thanks,” Sam says, taking the wagon from Dean to relieve him of his shift.

They drink water and ‘fake’ beer the whole way down, and by the time they reach the end, they’re essentially sober. They’re also tired as hell. Dean aches in places he didn’t even know he  _had_  and seriously needs to piss. He spies a bench at the edge of the path and sinks into it, leaning back and squeezing his temples. Sam and Cas  join him, both leaning back tiredly. Cas takes out his phone a calls a cab before the three of them fall into a tired, affable silence waiting for it to arrive.

“This was fun,” Sam says after a while, smiling at Cas fondly.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

The cab arrives soon enough and they all pile in. They head for the station, with only a small detour for Dean and Cas to grab their things from the Impala. They have appropriately fancy outfits, approved by Sarah over Skype.

They tip the cabbie when he drops them off and head for the train. It’s a close call; they barely make it to the station in time and have to run to make it, much to the protest of their ailing muscles. They collapse into their seats, with Dean and Cas on one side and Sam sitting opposite them.

They all sleep the majority of the trip. Sam stretches out across his chair and the vacant one beside him, fitting as best he can, given his large frame. Dean falls asleep against the window, with Cas’ head resting on his shoulder. It’s a quiet little moment in the long, hectic timeline of Dean’s life, and the last thing he thinks before he surrenders to his sleepy eyelids is, yet again, that he’s goddamn  _happy_. He is reveling in the depth of that truth when sleep finally pulls him under.

*

It’s dark when Dean awakes. A quick glance at his phone says he’s been out for hours. Sam is still asleep, but Cas is already awake beside him. Figures. Cas always wakes up first. His hands are in Dean’s hair and it’s obvious he’s been running his hands through it. He freezes when he sees that Dean is awake.

“Did I wake you?” he asks, pulling his hand away.

“Mhh, no. That felt nice, you can keep doing it,” Dean says sleepily. Cas hesitates, but then resumes what he was doing, carding his fingers through Dean’s short, soft hair.

“We’re nearly there. Next stop, actually,” Cas informs him. He presses a kiss to Dean’s neck and Dean shifts so he can kiss his mouth. Dean darts his tongue slides easily into Cas’ mouth and his bites gently at Cas’ lip. Cas takes a sharp intake of air and then shakes his head.

“Your brother is asleep across from us and we are in a crowded train.”

Dean ignores him in favor of sliding a hand to the back of his boyfriend’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss. Cas goes with it without protest, sighing quietly against Dean’s lips when their mouths break apart.

“Public area,” Cas reminds him.

“That didn’t stop you on Memorial Day in that park.”

Cas flushes red and looks away.

“That was very inappropriate,” Cas mumbles. Dean leans forward, bringing his lips close to Cas’ ear.

“I  _liked_  it,” he whispers, and Cas shudders. They are abruptly interrupted by Sam loudly clearly his throat. Dean groans and sits back in his seat.

“Cockblock,” Dean says, and Sam gives him his classic bitchface.

“We’re on a  _train_ , Dean,” he says exasperatedly.

Before their bickering can escalate any further, the train intercom announces that they’ve arrived at the next stop. The subject of inappropriate kissing is lost in favor of gathering their bags and heading for the exit.

Sarah is waiting for them on the platform when they arrive, and Sam’s smile is almost embarrassingly dopey. He runs to her like he’s been gone for weeks and not just a day, both literally and figuratively sweeping her off her feet when he hugs her. He spins her around a bit and it’s horrifically cheesy – though Dean can’t help but think that happiness looks good on  _Sam_ , too. He gets what his little brother meant, earlier. Sam’s features are light and his eyes have something decidedly bright in them when he looks at Sarah. Dean hasn’t seen Sam look like that since Jessica, so many years ago.

“Hey, Sarah! Good to see you,” Dean says with a grin, once the dramatic hug has ended. He gives Sarah his own hug – much less dramatic, obviously – and Cas shakes her hand in that awkward, formal way of his.

“You too! I missed you both,” she says with a warm smile that shows how much she means it. “Okay - our reservation is in an hour. I’m taking you home and everyone’s getting quick showers – and I mean  _quick_ , boys – and then we head off. Got it?”

Dean salutes her like she’s an army general. “Got it.”

The other two mimic him and Sarah leads the way to the car waiting outside.

*

Cas and Dean barely get to see the house, because Sarah rushes them through it. Dean notes that it’s very beautiful, filled with paintings that her father probably came across in his years of auctioning that were too beautiful to part with. It’s well furnished, too. Sarah owned the house before she met Sam; it was a gift left to her in a will from a grandmother and is already paid off. Sam works as an intern for Sarah’s dad, now, and he and Sarah live well. Certainly better than Dean and Cas are in their studio flat, living off pool hustling and credit card fraud that is getting increasingly difficult to pull off and equally difficult on Dean’s conscience. Looking at Sam and Sarah’s house, however brief the glimpse, makes Dean wonder again if he should get a job or something.

They’re sent to a guest bedroom equipped with its own bathroom and are told to be out in fifteen minutes, “or else”. Dean appreciates that she assumed he and Cas would be showering together, because now he doesn’t have to ask Cas himself. They both climb into the shower together and Dean turns on the water, hot and steaming. He’d intended to make  _some_ sort of move, but the water feels nice and he realizes yet again how exhausted his body is. Sarah’s somewhat formidable threat of “or else” is also at the forefront of his mind, so in the end he just settles for washing Cas’ hair for him and otherwise showering innocently.

Sarah’s gone when they finally emerge from the guest room, fresh and clad in their fancy suits. Sam’s sitting in the living room looking just as dapper.

“Where’s Sarah?” Dean asks him, looking around the room.

“No idea. I got out of the shower and she wasn’t here.”

As if on cue, the front door opens and Sarah’s there, looking lovely in a black dress and pretty, dangling earrings, with her hair braided. She smiles and tilts her head toward the door.

“Come on, boys, our reservation’s in five.”

“Where’d you go?” Sam asks skeptically.

“Hmm? Oh – I ran to a friend’s house, had to borrow a pair of earrings,” she replies, gesturing to the earrings.

“… Sarah, I’ve seen those earrings before. Aren’t they yours?” Sam says, looking even more suspicious.

“Nope,” she says simply with an unreadable smile, and heads out the door, beckoning them after. Sam’s wary look doesn’t fade, but Dean brushes it off. Girls are weird.

*

The restaurant is ritzy and upscale, and Dean immediately feels out of place. He starts messing with the bottom of his tie, rolling the edges around his fingers. Cas notices and places a hand over Dean’s hand, squeezing it gently. The message is clear:  _I’m here_. Dean drops his tie and squeezes back. No one notices this quiet moment in their world, and that makes it better. Dean likes these small moments that only he and Cas share.

The waitress leads them through the crowded restaurant, weaving through tables and people to a booth by the window. Dean and Sam stop short before they make it to the table, though.

“Bobby?” both boys ask at once – because Bobby’s already there, sitting at the table. He’s dressed up, too, though he’s still wearing his hat. He looks slightly uncomfortable in the place, sitting by himself. He smiles when he sees everyone coming.

“Yeah, ya idjits, it’s me,” he says gruffly, standing to hug them as they approach. Dean and Sam practically run to him.

“Happy Father’s Day!” they say, again at once. Bobby looks mildly overwhelmed.

“I’m not-“

“Nope, shut up. Yes you are,” Dean says, and that settles that. They all take their seats and the server comes with menus a minute later. Dean lets Cas order for him and Sam does the same with Sarah; neither of them know much about high-class food, but their respective partners are much more well versed. Sarah has learned from years of experience and Cas has learned from various cookbooks and… Google.

“Wait… how’d you get here, Bobby?” Sam asks after their meals have arrived.

“Don’t look at me,” Bobby says, jerking his thumb in Sarah’s direction, “this was all her.”

Sam looks at Sarah uneasily.

“Sarah… er, can we afford that?” He looks more than a little embarrassed, but Dean’s pretty sure he would be, too.

Sarah smiles and bites her lip.

“I’ve been telling my Dad about Bobby,” she says, sounding shy – which is a rare occurrence for her, “and how much he’s done for you and Sam. He thought it was a shame that Bobby couldn’t spend Father’s Day with us.”

“Bobby accepted a free ticket?” Dean asks, looking at Bobby, who is looking at his plate.

“I didn’t think he would,” Sarah says, smiling at him fondly, “so we bought him a nonrefundable ticket without his permission.” Her smile evolves into a mischievous grin, and Dean remembers why he told Sam to marry her so many years ago.

“Bastards,” Bobby grumbles, but his smile betrays him.

Dinner is great, but the company is even better. The conversation ranges from ‘how are you’s to life updates and anecdotes from the brothers’ childhood, where Bobby served as father to both boys growing up. They tease Bobby for going a bit red at all the praise and attention. It’s good feelings all around, and Bobby looks happy to be there. Again, it’s another instance of someone whose face is so unused to happiness that it catches Dean off guard. Happiness looks good on Bobby, too.

The meal is over what feels like far too soon, despite how long it’s been. They opt out of dessert because dinner was filling enough. Once the bill is paid and the waitress is tipped, they all pile into Sarah’s car and head back to Sam and Sarah’s place. On the way, she convinces Dean and Cas to stay another night more than intended because Bobby is staying longer, too. It didn’t take much coercing for them to say yes.

By the time they get home, everyone is exhausted. Between the hiking, drinking, the train ride and dinner, Sam, Dean and Cas can’t wait to hit the sack. Sarah directs Dean and Cas back to the same guest room as before and they all say their goodnights. Sam tries to bid Dean another ‘Happy Father’s Day’ before he heads upstairs, but Dean reacts in a  _very mature_ manner by clamping his hands over his ears, and shouting nonsense as he ducks into his room. He hears Sam huff a sigh and can practically feel his bitchface through the door.

Dean turns around and Cas is there, inches from him. Dean jumps; he hadn’t heard Cas and wasn’t expecting him to be in such close proximity. Cas wraps an arms around Dean and kisses him. Dean smiles into the kiss and pulls Cas toward the bed, and after an awkward moment of shucking most of their clothing, they curl up together. They’re both too tired to do anything more than lay together.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says.

“Thank me? You’re the one who planned all this.”

“You called Gabriel.”

“Yeah, well…”

“I love you,” Cas says, and kisses Dean again.

“I love you, too. And – thank  _you_ , man. Another kickass holiday because you’re so…”

“So?”

“So  _you_ ,” Dean says, gesturing up and down Cas.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

“Good, ‘cause it is one.”

Cas looks pleased. “Happy Father’s Day, Dean.”

“Happy Father’s Day, Cas.”

They climb under the covers and lay chest-to-chest with their feet entangled. They’re both nearly asleep by the time Dean speaks again. His speech is garbled by how sleepiness.

“One day,” he whispers, nearly inaudible into Cas’ hair, “we might be dads, too.”

Cas responds with an indistinct mumble that sounds something like  _Go to sleep, Dean._  Dean’s almost instantly grateful that Cas didn’t hear him. He’s not sure where the sentiment came from, but he’s pretty sure it’s better left where it came from, deep in the recesses of his mind. He presses a kiss to Cas’ head and very soon after falls asleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of minutiae for you - Dean wears the bracelet on his left hand for the same reason people wear wedding rings on their left ring finger (sans romantic implications). Also - I wanted to thank my tumblr followers who gave me all the ideas for a sweater in summer!
> 
> Last thing: I want to apologize to anyone who's German, whose holiday I may have written horribly, horribly wrong. I meant no disrespect.


	15. A Different Sort of Firework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Fourth of July, and no one does red, white, and blue like two decidedly unpatriotic hunters. Their mutual lack of nationalistic pride does nothing to deter Cas from going all star angel'd banner for the holiday, though. While spending a day in museums, rather than barbecuing, isn't exactly Dean's idea of a good time, he's gotta admit that Cas has a way of bringing out the fireworks in just about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much of this was done after 2am on multiple ocassions that I'm actually terrified of how it's turned out - I haven't read it yet. It hasn't been beta'd either, which is frustrating! I was going to finish early and actually have a beta for once, but I found out last minute that I'll be gone from before the 4th until a little under a week after. So, better to post early unbeta'd than a week late! Sorry if it sucks. Also, I was specifically asked about Lyric and got a request for some more attention to Sunshine. There are both. And once again, I'd like to thank Jayne for all her clever ideas.

“Cas, is our rabbit seriously wearing a sweater?”

It’s the first thing Dean says when he walks through the door, carrying a brown paper grocery bag in each hand. He shivers as he enters; the air conditioner is, as always, blasting at least 10 degrees below what is normal or natural for a flat that is decidedly  _not_  a freezer. Cas is sitting on the couch with Sunshine in his hands, running his thumbs over her floppy, velvety ears.

Both rabbit and fallen angel are wearing matching fire engine red sweaters.

Cas tucks Sunshine under one arm and walks over to Dean, taking one bag from him.

“She was cold,” Cas says simply, walking to the kitchen.

Dean follows after. “Where did you even  _find_ sweaters for rabbits?”

“The pet store. She is about the size of a small cat.”

“And it just happened to match yours?”

Cas’ tiny smile and hint of blush is just plain friggin adorable. “That was a… fortunate coincidence.”

“Uh huh.”

Dean places his bag on the counter and pulls things out – milk, coffee, etc. Cas does the same with the other bag; he frowns when he pulls a store brand peach pie and a rotisserie chicken from the bag.

“I can cook better than this,” Cas says with a slight undertone of contempt to his voice, “Why did you buy these?”

Dean tries to fight what would probably be a very lecherous smirk. He crosses the room and slips his arms around Cas’ waist, tugging him close. Sunshine makes a tiny noise and Cas shifts his hold on her so that she is cradled between them. Dean leans close so that his lips hover over Cas’; Cas gives him a curious look.

“Wanted to give you the night off,” he says quietly. His smirk is tugging at the edges of his lips, itching to be laced with innuendo. He refrains.

“Mhm,” Cas says, leaning his forehead against Dean’s, “I take it you have  _no_ ulterior motives.”

Dean laughs against Cas’ mouth.

“None.”

Cas kisses Dean, drawing it out by dragging his teeth against Dean’s bottom lip. Dean’s smirk wins over.

“You don’t have to buy bad food to sleep with me, Dean,” Cas says, breaking away when Sunshine starts squirming. He puts her down and she bounds away, looking – and Dean will never say this out loud – cute as a goddamn button.

“That so?” Dean asks, going back to putting away the various items from his grocery run.

“Yes. I enjoy having sex with you. I’d like to do it as often as possible, actually. I also enjoy cooking. I don’t see the point in choosing one or the other.”

Dean’s momentarily stuck on ‘ _as often as possible’_. He clears his throat.

“The more time you spend cooking, the less time we have to-“

“We’ll stay up later and sleep in longer,” Cas says, dismissing him, “but since you’ve already bought it, we might as well eat it. Consult me before veering from the shopping list next time.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Y’know, Cas, you have me feeling pretty whipped on a regular basis.”

“You  _are_  ‘whipped’, Dean,” Cas says, air quotes and all.

Dean grumbles something unintelligible at that before grabbing plates and loading them with chicken and pie. Cas sighs, exasperated, and grabs a baguette from their bread drawer. He cuts two sandwich-sized pieces and puts one on each plate. Dean grins.

“Thought it was missing something,” he says, pressing a kiss to Cas’ head. Sandwiches made, he takes the plates to the main room so they can watch a movie while they eat. Or, rather, they can eat, pretend to watch a movie and swiftly move on to…  _other_ things. He nearly trips over Sunshine on the way, and Cas quickly scoops her up and puts her away.

Dean spies a newspaper cutout on the coffee table when he sets their plates down. He instinctively reaches for it, assuming it’s about a potential hunt. Cas quickly plucks it from his hands and crumples it up. He looks up at Dean sheepishly, like he’s just realized how incriminating that action was. Like a kid caught with a hand in a cookie jar. Dean narrows his eyes.

“Cas. What is that?”

“It’s nothing,” Cas replies evasively, averting his eyes, “I believe Fight Club is on, if you’ll turn on the-“

“What  _is_ it, Cas?” Dean snaps. If there’s anything Dean fucking hates, it’s secrets. Cas seems to sense the gravity in Dean’s tone, because he sighs, resigned, and sits on the couch beside Dean. He hands over the balled up article to Dean.

It’s a Help Wanted ad.

**DINER SERVERS, DISHWASHERS AND LINE COOKS WANTED:**

_Newly opened busy 50s diner looking to fill staff. Experience preferred but not required for line cooks. No experience necessary for other positions. Apply in person._

Dean reads and rereads the ad and then balls it up again. He pelts it at Cas; it’d be a much more impressive show of anger if the paper wasn’t light and unintimidating. The hostility in the gesture is not lost to Cas, however.

“I thought we had a deal, Cas,” Dean all but hisses, glaring daggers at Cas.

“I wasn’t going to-”

“Or did you forget? Shitty suburban life fucking up your priorities?”

Cas’ mouth snaps shut, and he suddenly looks much less repentant.

“We’re hunters, Cas. We’re not civilians. We  _save_ civilians. We  _save_  the chefs and the servers and whatever the fuck else.”

Still, Cas is silent. His look is fierce, though, face taut like a bottled tornado with raging hurricanes flickering in the blue of his eyes. Dean has a glare to rival Cas’, and the intensity in Cas’ returning expression is lost to Dean.

“This apartment, Cas? This is just a high class motel. We still have one room and a shitty TV – the only difference is the stove. This is where we fuck and crash between hunts. No one gets a job to support a motel.” In the very, very back of Dean’s mind he’s conscious of the fact that he’s speaking out of fear, a tremendous all-consuming fear of  _change_  that begins at his core and courses through his system. All Dean knows is hunting; it’s the only thing he’s good at. Everything else is unknown and it terrifies him. The apple pie life is a dream he never entertains for even the briefest moment.

He knows that this flat is their home, though, knows that they’ve built memories here and that it’s not just a motel. He knows it, but he says the opposite, because he’s scared. Motels and moving all the time and risking his life to save strangers are who Dean  _is_. Strip that away, and who is he? He has no fucking idea. Even staying in this flat, in one place indefinitely, is still taking some major adjusting to.

“Shitty suburban life,” Cas echoes when he finally speaks. He’s looking straight into Dean’s eyes; it’s disorienting. “Are you unhappy here, Dean?”

It’s Dean’s turn to be silent. The question has caught him off guard.

“Would you prefer if we went back to travelling all the time? I will not stop you if you do. And I’ll come with you, because you know that I will always follow where you lead. After all, what does it matter where we  _fuck_  and  _crash between hunts?_ ” Cas asks, spitting the words like venom. Dean recoils, just slightly. His eyes dart to the rows of candles Cas has on every available surface. There’re even two picture frames up. One is a small, long rectangular frame with a set of black and white photobooth pictures of Dean and Cas . The other is a photo they snapped of all of them – Sam, Sarah, Bobby, Cas and Dean – over Father’s Day.

“You’re missing the point,” Dean says.

 

“Enlighten me, then.”

Dean roughly runs a hand through his short, sandy brown hair in frustration.

“If you get a job, when will we go hunting, huh? Weekends?”

Cas heaves a weary sigh.

“It was a whim, Dean. That’s all. I wasn’t going to ask.” Cas’ soft and tired tone effectively deflates the conversation. A weird feeling settles into Dean’s chest, like a tangible vacancy where words ought to be. He has none. Yet again, Cas has caught him off guard.

“If you want to leave,” Cas says, standing from the couch and walking to the closet where they keep their coats, “you’ll have to find a home for Sunshine. Motels are not fond of pets.”

“Cas-“

Cas tugs off his sweater, revealing a thin blue t-shirt underneath, and hangs it up; ironically, it’s warmer outside than it is in their house. He heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” Dean demands.

“For a walk. As you have so tactfully stated, our ‘high class motel’ only has one room.”

And then the front door opens and shuts and Cas is gone. To his credit, Cas does not slam the door. Dean looks at their two unfinished meals and wonders how exactly he managed to word vomit such a fucking horrific flame with such little ignition.

*

Cas returns  _hours_  later with red, glassy eyes, smelling of liquid poison. He stumbles in and gives Dean a passive, unreadable look. He sinks into the couch and lays his head against the back of it and laughs at nothing, eyes trained on the ceiling. Dean, on the other hand, has been doing heavy thinking during the hours Cas has been gone. His fingers twitch nervously around the newspaper cut-out – he’s smoothed it out and has read it several times since Cas left.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he whispers, sitting beside his drunken angel and inching close.

Cas waves the apology off with his hand.

“Can we fuck?” he asks, turning his head to focus on Dean. “I’d like to fuck you.”

Dean frowns.

“I’m trying to apologize here, man.”

“I’m drunk, Dean.”

Dean sucks in a sharp intake of air. Cas rarely drinks, and when he does it’s only ever with Dean and Sam. He didn’t just piss Cas off; he hurt him.

“Will you remember this in the morning?” Dean implores, suddenly slightly desperate to carry through with his apology.

Cas is quiet a moment, clearly contemplating Dean’s question. He nods.

“I believe so.” He seems mostly coherent, so Dean’s inclined to believe him.

Dean kisses him. He tastes like alcohol and bar smoke.

“I love you,” he says when he breaks for air and puts both hands on either side of Cas’ face. “I love our stupid too-small apartment and your candles, man, your stupid girly scented candles. I love our – our kitchen, dude, I’ve never had a kitchen before. My whole life, I never had a goddamn kitchen. I love how the house smells when you bake and how you look in your nerdy aprons. I’m happy, Cas. I’m fucking happy. I’ve never been this happy in my life.”

Cas tilts his head.

“You said-”

Dean shakes his head quickly.

“I’m a dick. I say stupid shit when I…”

“When what?”

Dean sighs.

“When humans want something really, really badly-”

“They lie,” Cas finishes for him. Dean’s surprised that Cas remembered that. Understanding seems to be dawning on Cas, and the tight feeling in Dean’s chest flutters just a bit.

“Yeah.”

“What is it you want, Dean?” Dean really hopes Cas is processing all this and will remember it, because he’s pretty sure he’ll die if he has to have this conversation twice. He forces himself to meet Cas’ eyes, even though he doesn’t want to. Eye contact is important, especially between the two of them.

“I want  _this_ ,” he gestures to their flat, “I want what Sam has with his fiancée and his house and his job. I want…” All this talking is starting to feel physically painful. Dean knows he’s on the cusp of  _something_ and he doesn’t know if he’s ready… but he wants to be. He doesn’t know how to finish his sentence, can’t form the words ‘apple pie life’ or ‘retire from hunting’. Either admission would be too big for this small moment.

“Let’s put in applications tomorrow,” he says at last, “You’d be an awesome cook.”

Cas doesn’t say anything at first. Dean waits, chewing his bottom lip and feeling inexplicably like a child. Finally, finally, Cas nods.

“Thank you,” he says. It’s not exactly the answer Dean wanted. He wants Cas to know that it’s not a gift and he’s not just humoring him – that this move will be for both of them. He’s run out of words, though, so he doesn’t voice it.

“I love you,” Cas adds, “Irrevocably. You are inherently stubborn, but you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t an asshole.”

This pulls a genuine smile to Dean’s lips. Cas still sounds awkward when he curses, even more so when he’s drunk. Cas crawls into Dean’s lap and Dean tugs him close, clinging to him like he’s afraid he’ll lose him if he lets go. Dean would be content to lie there, huddled together on the couch, until they fall asleep, but soon Cas is mouthing at Dean’s neck and jaw and Dean is very much awake. A sharp nip to the skin below his ear makes Dean gasp and he pulls away so he can look at Cas.

“I’d like to have sex now,” Cas says, sounding adorably earnest in his inebriated state. Dean smiles.

“Eat your dinner and have some coffee first.”

“But Dean-”

“Listen, man, as much as I’d like to skip the formalities and go right to the fucking, I know the rules about make up sex. You’re going to top the fuck out of me and I’d like to make sure you’re as sober as possible for it.”

“Fair enough.”

Twenty minutes later finds Dean bent over with his chest against the kitchen counter, hands pinned down by one of Cas’ hands while his angel fucks him  _hard_. Cas’ free hand is covering Dean’s dick, keeping Dean from coming because the guy is a sadistic bastard when he wins for makeup sex. Dean moans louder than he’s used to and his legs feel like they’re going to give out. Cas is panting and whimpering obscenities against Dean’s neck as he slams in again and again, hitting Dean’s prostate with practiced ease each time. Dean’s covered in sweat and he really,  _really_ needs to come. Like,  _now_. He tries not to beg.

Dean feels Cas shudder and seize before he comes, filling Dean up, moaning Dean’s name gently in his ear.  _Now_  Dean begs, broken and choked and wrecked. Cas chuckles, dark and dirty in Dean’s ear and Dean feels like he’s losing his mind.

“Cas, please-”

“No,” Cas retorts harshly, “not yet.”

“Please, God, fuck, Cas,” Dean is vaguely aware that he is absolutely incoherent, spewing words that are mostly nonsense.

“You upset me,” Cas points out through ragged breaths. Dean can hear the amusement in Cas’ voice. This is not fucking  _fair_.

… Though Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t like it. This is borderline  _too much_ , though. It’s riding the border between fucking amazing and really, really not and Dean’s not sure how long it’ll stay this side of awesome.

“I’m sorry,” Dean pants, “Sorry, Cas, please, let me-” his pleas are broken by a moan he only barely registers as his own. Cas spins Dean around so that they’re facing each other. Dean shuts his eyes, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to lose it if he makes eyes contact with Cas.

Then Cas is on his knees and his hand is gone and is quickly replaced by his mouth. Dean throws his head back and his hips shudder and his whole mind is exploding with how  _good_  it feels. Because Cas always makes it worth it, always makes it so fucking good that Dean feels like he’s seeing stars or something equally ridiculous. Cas’ mouth is on him for all of ten seconds before Dean comes in his boyfriend’s mouth. Cas swallows it down like a champ and then smiles up at Dean.

“I love you, Dean,” he says in the deep, gravelly voice of his, made even rougher because it’s directly post-blowjob.

Dean laughs.

“Fuck, Cas. Love you too, man.”

*

They both get the job, the same day they apply. The diner is brand new and grossly understaffed; the manager practically pounced when she heard Dean and Cas ask for applications. As soon as he signs his name on the application, Dean is whisked away to a back room to get interviewed while Cas is pulled into the kitchen to demonstrate his skills. Dean’s interview is brief, all of five minutes.

“How would you describe yourself in one word?” the upbeat blonde associate manager interviewing him asks. She has a notepad and pen on the desk that she doesn’t look like she has any intention of using.

Dean thinks on it for a minute. Then he leans forward and splits a grin fit to make knees weak and gives her the  _eyes_ he’s so famous for. “Adorable.”

The woman looks flustered and her cheeks go slightly red. “Oh.” She seems to momentarily forget her next question and Dean nods encouragingly.

“That can’t be the only question,” he says teasingly.

“Right! Um. What qualities do you possess that would make you good for the job?”

Dean contemplates that.

“Fast reflexes, good instincts and a stellar smile,” he replies with a wink. He thinks he hears the girl sigh.

“Can you roller skate?” she asks.

“Yeah. Why?”

She smiles wide.

“Because all the servers wear roller-skates here! It’s a 50s diner. You’ll get an old-fashioned uniform and a pair of roller skates when – er, if you’re employed here.”

Dean is momentarily sidetracked by the mental image of Cas in one of those dorky outfits.

“So when do I start?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Oh,” she says again, clearly taken off guard again by Dean’s brazen cockiness. “Um. I have to discuss with the manager if you’re…”

Dean chuckles. “How about we see if my boyfriend gets hired before either of us makes any commitments, huh? Oh – and thanks.”

“Thanks?” she asks, seemingly stuck on the word ‘boyfriend’.

“For the job,” Dean says with a wink, rising from his seat and exiting the small office.

*

Dean is sitting at a booth close to the entrance of the diner, eating a slice of pie, when Cas emerges from the kitchen with his interviewer and the resident chef. Cas is wearing the sort of bright smile that is usually reserved for Dean, and the other two look pleased as well. If there was any doubt before, it’s obvious to Dean that Cas got the job. Cas catches sight of Dean and walks over, taking a seat across from Dean and plucking the fork from his hand.

“I believe was accepted for the position,” Cas says before taking a bite of pie.

“I was, too,” Dean replies with a grin.

The head manager walks over to them with two clipboards and pens.

“Hello, boys,” she says pleasantly, handing one to each of them. “In case you haven’t already guessed, you’re both hired. Just fill out your tax paperwork and we can pick your hours.”

Cas looks positively delighted, and Dean gets that weird feeling in his chest he gets whenever Cas is being, like,  _stupid_ adorable, to the point where it’s unfair. If they weren’t in public, right about now would be when he’d be kissing him.

“Sounds good,” Dean says, then gently grabs her arm as she’s turning away to leave them to their paperwork, “Oh – hate to ask so soon, but we need a day off next week.”

The manager raises an eyebrow. Cas looks up from his papers and gives Dean a curious look.

“Really,” she says in a flat, skeptical tone. Dean gives her his million dollar smile and shrugs.

“It’s a holiday,” he says, “and holidays are kind of like, a big deal for us. Really big deal.”

“The fourth of July?” she asks.

“The one and the same.”

The manager frowns. “Alright, but you guys can’t have  _every_ holiday off. The way the days work is-“

Dean holds up a hand to silence her. “I’m not takin’ the job if my angel can’t have his holidays.” He’s wagering on the fact that, looking around, he sees the staff to customer ratio is way off. He’s pretty sure they need him and Cas. The manager is silent. Cas has an unreadable expression as he watches Dean. Finally the manager sighs and runs a hand through her dark hair.

“Fine,” she says, not unkindly, “But don’t tell the other employees, okay? You’ve got killer waiter charisma and your friend here is an amazing cook. ”

“Boyfriend,” Dean corrects easily. The woman looks from one man to the other; Dean doesn’t like the expression on her face.

“You two are together?”

“Hope that won’t be a problem.”

The woman smiles.

“Not at all. But the employee PDA rules apply to couples of  _all_ orientations,” she adds with a wink, “so paws off when you’re on duty. No one cares what mischief you two get up to on your break.”

Dean decides that he likes her.

*

“What should we do for Independence Day?” Cas asks. They’re sitting in the car and are headed for Newark, NJ, where signs of a resident water wraith have surfaced. The sun is setting and Dean idly wonders why they never hunt anything during the damn day. At Cas’ question, he chuckles.

“Normal people call it the Fourth of July, Cas.”

“Isn’t Independence Day on the fourth of July?”

“Well, yeah, either one is correct – call it whatever you want. And I don’t know, man, holidays are your thing. Fourth of July is pretty much fireworks and a barbecue. Which I’m down for, if you want.”

Cas nods.

“I am very eager to see the fireworks.”

“They’re cool. Sam and I almost set a field on fire with our own, once.”

“Your own?” Cas looks incredulous.

“Yeah – God, Cas, not the giant ones they shoot off at cities and shit. The cheesy ones they sell for people to set off on their own.”

“Oh,” Cas says, looking very relieved.

“So are we inviting my giant brother and his hot fiancée to our shindig? Whatever it is we’re doing.”

“I spoke with Sarah, and she and Sam will be spending their holiday at a gathering with her family, so this one will be the two of us.”

Dean smiles.

“I’m game for a cheesy romantic holiday.”

“I would like that as well.”

They drive on in affable silence for a moment, both of them absorbed in their own thoughts. Dean’s thoughts are jumping back and forth between mentally gagging over what a girl he’s become and musing about potential Fourth of July sex. Dean figures the amount of fantastic (manly) sex they have might override the girliness thing.

“Aside from fireworks and barbecues,” Cas inquires eventually, “what is the purpose behind this holiday?”

“Uh – some American history shit. I don’t know, Cas, I dropped out of high school.”

Cas nods thoughtfully.

“The country’s independence, then.”

“Yeah. I think we screwed over England and fucked up their tea.”

“Their tea? Dean… that is not the story of your country.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s the abridged version.”

“We should go to Philadelphia for the holiday,” Cas concludes decidedly.

“Why? What’s in Philadelphia?”

“History. The Liberty Bell, for instance. Independence Hall, the National Constitution Center-”

“How do you  _know_  all this?”

“-Franklin Court, the Betsy Ross House. Philadelphia was originally meant to be the nation’s capital.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re a nerd. Most people barbecue.”

“Humans barbecue for so many occasions,” Cas comments wearily.

“ _Americans_ barbecue for friggin everything.”

“No holiday would be special if we followed that tradition. We must be  _creative_.”

Dean parks near a creek in a vacant parking lot and pulls out a silver knife; they’ve reached their destination. The knife glints in the moonlight reflected off the water outside.

“That’s why you’re in charge of holidays. Ready to gank this son of a bitch?”

Cas nods. “Yes.”

*

They arrive home smelling of salt water and sand, weary from the hunt and the long drive home. They both simultaneously sink into the couch side-by-side. Cas has several scratches across his face and Dean can feel an ugly bruise blooming under his ribs.

“Let’s just go to bed,” Dean says sleepily, nuzzling into Cas’ neck.

“We smell like lake and sweat, Dean.”

Dean whines.

“I don’t think I can stand up, dude. Much less take a shower. I’m beat.”

“So we’ll take a bath, then,” Cas says simply, dismissively. Dean perks up at the  _we_ in that sentence. Cas notices.

“ _Only_ a bath, Dean. Our first day of work is tomorrow. We need rest.”

Dean groans.

“Let’s call out sick.”

“Your work ethic is deplorable.”

“Psh. You love me.”

“I do.” He gives Dean a quick kiss and then stands up and stretches. He winces, clearly hurt from their particularly strenuous hunt, before walking off toward the bathroom.

“Bubbles?” Cas asks over his shoulder.

“Do you even have to ask?”

Cas’ chuckle is fond.

“I suppose not.”

*

Dean’s pretty sure he gets better tips his first day on the job than the average low-end stripper gets in a night. His pretty eyes, killer smile and effortless charm and banter are an instant hit with diner patrons. The diner’s 50s theme and his coordinating uniform add to his charm. His roller blades, button up shirt, red bow tie and soda jerk hat are a dapper combination, and Dean quickly finds that he much prefers this over hustling pool. Getting to make people smile for a living isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Every time Dean goes to the kitchen window to pick up plates and drop off orders, he catches sight of Cas. Cas is wearing his own uniform, stupid hat and bow tie and all with an apron, even though he can’t really be seen by the people dining. Dean figures it’s for authenticity’s sake.  When they lock eyes each time, they both smile. Cas is in his element in the kitchen, artfully filling out each order with a sort of passion that low-paid diner cooks don’t usually have. Every now and then Dean gets to catch a glimpse of Cas dicing something, and he takes a moment to admire his boyfriend’s hands. They’re slender and long but unquestionably strong.

Towards the end of his shift, Dean gets assigned to a table with two familiar faces.

“Dean!” squeals the voice of a small girl before he’s even made it to that side of the diner. There’s a tiny hand waggling above a booth table and Dean stares at it, confused. Once he skates up to the table, though, he understands completely.

“Lyric! Hey little buddy,” he says, grinning ear to ear at the little girl he hasn’t seen in months.

“Mommy, Mommy, do you remember-“

The little girl’s mother smiles.

“Yes, I remember, love.” She directs her smile to Dean. “How could I forget? You talked about him for a week and a half after meeting him.”

“And his husband!” Lyric chirps cheerfully. Her mother laughs.

“Yes. And his husband.”

“Boyfriend,” Dean corrects, but his smile is still wide and he doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable by the assumption as he might have been couple months ago.

Lyric’s expression looks scandalized.

“Boyfriend! Why? When are you getting married?”

Dean can feel himself going red and he curses himself for it. Thankfully, Lyric’s mom comes to the rescue.

“Lyric, that is a very rude question. Now let the poor man do his job! You’re holding him up.”

“But Mommy, they’re in  _love_ -“

Lyric’s mother gives Dean an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry. She’s a hopeless romantic. Way too much Disney for her own good. She keeps complaining there are no gay princes…” she chuckles. Dean laughs as well.

“It’s good to know the next generation’s on top of things,” he says, winking at Lyric, who bursts into giggles. “Now, can I start you two off with something to drink?”

Lyric orders a milkshake (very enthusiastically) and her mother orders water. Dean promises to be back soon with their drinks and to take their orders and he skates off, unable to shake the grin from his face.

Dean really likes little kids. There’s a train of thought he nearly goes down, but a server to his right accidentally trips on her skates and sends a mess of root beer floats crashing to the floor. Dean hastens to help her and the train of thought is averted entirely. Car seats and cribs and high chairs are quickly forgotten.

*

“Her name’s Christie,” Dean tells Cas as he sits beside him at their kitchen table. They opted for takeout from the diner for dinner because by the time work was over, they were both beat and didn’t feel like waiting to eat. “Lyric’s mom, I mean. She said Lyric’s grandma came down for the summer so she didn’t end up needing a babysitter. She might in September, though.”

“I take it you’re interested?” Cas says, wearing a bemused expression as he transfers their food from takeout boxes to plates.

“Well, I mean,” Dean says awkwardly, “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter either way.”

“Right. Never mind the fact that you’ve been talking about the little girl since we got in the car.”

“Whatever,” Dean says dismissively. “What kind of pie did you get?”

“I got cake. We always have pie, Dean.”

“ _Cake?_ ” Dean whines.

“Yes, Dean. I assure you it’s good; I made it myself.”

“Traitor.”

“I’m tired of pie, Dean. We always have pie.”

“ _Blasphemy_.”

Cas snorts.

“I’m a fallen angel, Dean.”

“You are so making this up to me in sexual favors.”

“They’re not favors if I’m enjoying them as much as you are.”

This shuts Dean up. He looks at Cas and meets his gaze and  _fuck_ if he doesn’t like what he sees there.

“Is this you promising me a blow job later?”

“Anything you wish.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath of air.

“Well, fuck.”

“That’s the general idea.”

*

“So where are we going to watch fireworks? In Philadelphia or at one of the high schools around here?” Dean asks Cas. It’s a day before the Fourth of July and they’re in a thrift store, going through the sweater rack. It’s about 90 degrees Fahrenheit outside.

“Perhaps we could go to both,” Cas says distantly, gaze intent on the rack of sweaters.

“Dude, there’s no way we can do two. We’ll end up missing the finale of both. And that’s the best part.” Cas doesn’t answer; he’s biting his lip thoughtfully and scrutinizing each sweater thoroughly.

“Are you listening to me?” Dean persists, only mildly annoyed.

“I need an Independence Day sweater, Dean!” Cas says, sounding mildly desperate. “Surely there should be at least  _one_ …”

“Dude, Cas. Fourth of July happens in  _summer_. We’re in the tri-state area. The low is like 80 degrees at night, on a good day. Nobody wears sweaters in July. You’ll overheat.”

“I will find one.”

“Stubborn angel.”

“I believe I learned it from you.”

“Nah , you came like this.”

“No, I think it has something to do with being a Winchester.”

Dean seriously likes how that sounds.  _Castiel Winchester_. It works.

… He realizes what he’s thinking and the implications of it all at once and he panics. “I’m, uh – I’ll go look on the other side of the store.”

Dean doesn’t find a Fourth of July sweater, but he does find a neat oversized t-shirt that makes him think of Cas instantly. It’s hideous, just like all of Cas’ sweaters. The shirt is black with fireworks and stars all over it. Each tiny star has an American flag design within. The sleeves are cut off, which makes it look a little better, but it is, all in all, an eyesore.

Naturally, he buys it for Cas.

Cas is looking incredibly disappointed, obviously unsuccessful in his sweater search, when Dean catches up with him. His eyes light up when he sees the t-shirt, though. He gives Dean a quick kiss. They’re not much for PDA normally, so it catches Dean off guard. Cas obviously really, really likes the shirt.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, my little freedom fighter.”

*

Dean wakes up on the morning of the Fourth of July to the feeling of lips on his ear. His first conscious noise is a sharp gasp. He opens his eyes to find a set of blue eyes close to his.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas murmurs, breath tickling Dean’s ear. Dean shivers and blinks several times before he grins.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” he says, tilting his head so he can kiss Cas. “There a reason you’re waking me up the sexy way?”

“Only to tease you; breakfast is already done. It’s on the table.” Cas presses a quick kiss to Dean’s forehead before getting up and walking off. Dean groans.

“You’re a dick, y’know that?” he calls after Cas. He sits up and stretches before plodding sleepily along after Cas.

As promised, breakfast is on the table, paired with a steaming mug of coffee for Dean. The breakfast is, unsurprisingly, Fourth of July themed. A small stack of golden, fluffy pancakes is on each plate, covered with raspberries and blueberries – a red, white, and blue color scheme. Dean snickers and takes a seat next to Cas.

“Are you seriously that patriotic, dude?”

Cas shakes his head.

“No. I’ve been to almost every country on the planet and have loved them all. They are all my Father’s… They are all special in their own ways. This is simply the one where I found you, so I am slightly partial to it. But I am merely honoring the holiday.”

“Yeah, well, it’s cute.” Dean seriously,  _seriously_ needs to stop saying this shit out loud. Cas seems to absorb the compliment through some sort of pleased, contented osmosis and Dean doesn’t regret it  _too_ much.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replies. Then, after a beat, “You are… ‘cute’, as well.”

Dean turns beet red and groans.

“My life has become a chick flick.” Cas tilts his head and gives Dean a confused, sideways glance.

“You say that often.”

“Because this relationship is really, really gay.”

Cas looks even more confused now.

“We  _are_ homosexual lovers, Dean.” Dean groans again and cradles his forehead in his hands.

“Don’t phrase it like that! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem that I’m into dudes and chicks, but ‘homosexual lovers’ sounds fruity as hell.”

Cas frowns. “Lovers, then.”

Dean looks up at Cas.

“Yeah, I like that.

*

Philadelphia is packed. Apparently there’s a big festival happening in the city in honor of the holiday. There are people everywhere who have showed up for food and live entertainment. It’s a sea of red, white and blue.

Dean and Cas opt out of it. The leisurely day they have planned seems far more appealing than the throbbing mass of people. Cas is way more excited about the museums than whoever is playing live in concert. Dean’s content to follow wherever his nerd angel leads. They find a parking garage as close as they can get to where they’re going before traffic becomes an immovable blockade and walk the rest of the way.

The first stop on their touristy adventure is the Liberty Bell. The place is surprisingly vacant; it seems all the people in town for the holiday aren’t interested in the history behind it. Cas is, though. When they get to the bell – which is seriously just this big, ugly cracked bell with utterly no significance to Dean – Cas studies it like some sort of archaeologist unearthing some hidden relic.

“This is anticlimactic,” Dean says, peering close at the ugly thing. Cas looks genuinely confused.

“This is _interesting_ ,” Cas says, as though correcting Dean. “Have you read the inscription?”

“There’s an inscription?” Dean asks, which is an answer in and of itself. He reads it now, though:  _Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof_. He wrinkles his nose. “Sounds like a bible verse or something.”

“Leviticus 25:10,” Cas agrees immediately. Dean snorts.

“Nerd.”

The place the Liberty Bell is housed in (appropriately named the ‘Liberty Bell Center’) is oozing with historical facts about it. Cas soaks it all up like a geeky little sponge, and Dean can’t help but think that Sam would be jizzing himself over all this useless info, too. Dean isn’t entirely sure how he ended up with female librarians for both a brother and boyfriend.

Dean doesn’t see the point of any of this. One part of the museum has x-rays of the inside of the Bell.  _X-rays_. It makes absolutely no sense to Dean, but Cas seems pleased. There’s a section with a short History Channel film on the historic icon, and halfway through Dean forgets to be disillusioned. The Liberty Bell apparently has history with abolitionists and suffragists and lots of other cool shit, and he starts to reflect on how something inanimate can become so powerful and symbolic. He absently plays with his amulet while he’s watching, with Cas settled close against him.

… So, okay, sometimes history is cool.

They go straight from the Liberty Bell Center to Independence Hall, which is…  _slightly_  more interesting. This, at least, is a guided tour. They’re taken from room to room of the Hall and each place’s significance is explained by a rather monotone National Park ranger. Cas is extremely into it, though, and it’s infectious. While Dean can’t actually bring himself to give a shit about what the tour guide is saying, he spends the time watching Cas and enjoying every minute of what he sees. Cas’ brow wrinkles when he’s deep in thought and his eyes light up when he learns something he deems interesting. It’s like a multitude of microscopic epiphanies are written all over Cas’ face the whole tour, and Dean realizes again  _(again!)_  that he is hopelessly, blissfully in love.

Because, seriously, only love could make him sit through this shit and actually enjoy it.

The day passes like this, with new historical attractions that Cas manages to make enjoyable simply by being himself. It dawns on Dean that Cas is probably really in his element right now. He was stationed on Earth for thousands of years – his only job was probably to observe. Suffice it to say, Cas likes learning. It must be something new and wonderful to be able to learn in such a hands-on way, by participating instead of watching invisibly from the sidelines. Dean wants to ask why Cas doesn’t already know this shit – because, y’know, wasn’t he  _alive_ when all this happened? – but he doesn’t. He’s not sure why, but he thinks that whatever the answer might be could possibly, inexplicably put a damper on Cas’ enthusiasm. Dean decides it’s not important anyway.

The National Constitution Center was meant to be the last stop on their tourist hotspot binge, but it’s disappointingly swarming with people. It seems to be the very heart of all the festivities. Dean and Cas exchange looks briefly. It’s about an hour or so past sunset, now; fireworks won’t be going off for at least an hour or two more.

“Where should we go?” Cas asks, and Dean goes through a mental list of everything he knows about Philadelphia. All he can think of is LOVE Park – which is fitting, really, and he’s always wanted to go there, so he suggests it to Cas. Cas has no qualms, so they set off. They stop for hot dogs on the way and Dean asks for directions; it turns out they’re already on the right street. They head straight down until they reach the iconic red LOVE statue and the impressive fountain beside it.

Even with the sun down, it’s sticky and hot like only the tri-state area in summer can be. There are people milling about, some sitting on the edges of the fountain with their feet dipped in. A few more bold ones are wading into the shallow, ankle-deep water. They’re mostly kids, splashing around while their parents look on. The fountain is lit up from the inside and provides most of the light for the otherwise dark park.

“Augh, that water looks good,” Dean comments as they make their way to the edge of the fountain, “Those kids have the right idea.”

“Agreed.”

They sit side by side at the edge of the fountain and are quiet a moment, listening to the sound of the fountain water splashing and children playing. Dean leans against Cas and Cas leans back. It’s a nice, quiet moment, even if the heat nearly has Dean wishing for an air-conditioned museum. He watches the fountain a little while longer before he abruptly stands up and starts pulling off his shirt.

“Dean?” Cas inquires, confused.

“We’re going to get deep fried before we get to the fireworks, man,” Dean says in explanation. He toes off his socks and shoes, quickly tugs off his jeans, takes a deep breath, and darts into the fountain in his boxers. The immediate feeling of cold chill on his feet and ankles is wonderful, but Dean doesn’t stop there. He splashes his way up to the fountainhead itself and lets the gloriously cold spray cascade over him. He looks at Cas through the water, laughing at his own ridiculousness, and sees his angel staring back with wide, round and slightly panicked eyes. Dean also notes a few people looking at him like he’s crazy, but he ignores them.

“C’mon, Cas!” Dean calls, waving Cas over. Cas looks around hesitantly.

“C’mon!” Dean calls again. He knows if he goes over there, Cas will calmly and logically convince him to get out of the fountain. Cas is good at that. Dean hopes, maybe, that from here…

To Dean’s pleasure, he sees Cas stand to his feet and shuck off the awful patriotic t-shirt he’s wearing and take off his shoes as well. He hesitates on the edge of the fountain and looks up at Dean. Dean throws him a wide grin and opens his arms like a hug, but Cas stands cemented to the spot. One of the little kids playing rushes over to Cas and motions for Cas to lean over so he can whisper in Cas’ ear. Cas nods at whatever it is the kid tells him and the kid runs off. From where Dean is, he can see the deep breath Cas takes from the pronounced rise and fall of his chest before he pulls off his shoes and loses his jeans. He looks up, makes eye contact for an intense moment, and then runs to Dean, kicking up water in his path.

Dean drags him under the spray as well and they’re both drenched, hair soaked to their scalps. Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ waist and holds Cas’ hand with his free one. They spin around in a little dance, steps made slow and awkward because of the water. Dean’s smiling so hard his face hurts.

“What’d the kid tell you?” Dean asks over the roar of the fountain.

“He said, ‘your boyfriend is waiting, asshole, grow a pair and go get him’.” Cas chuckles in a fond sort of way.

“What? He looked, like, eight.”

“We  _are_ in the city, Dean.”

“Fair enough.” Dean notes as sort of an afterthought that Cas is wearing patriotic, American flag boxers. He’s too caught up in the moment to comment… but God if that isn’t just fucking  _weird_. Dean’s boyfriend is the worst (and best) kind of nerd.

Once they’re adequately cooled off, they wade their way back to their discarded clothing and sit on the concrete beside it, letting themselves dry. The night is entirely dark, now, and Dean figures they’ve got less than an hour before the fireworks start. It dawns on him that they never decided where to see them go off.

“What are those?” Cas asks, pointing at a group of children a little ways away. Each child is holding what appears to be a tiny firework on a stick. Upon closer examination, Dean sees that the lights are actually sparklers. Dean looks around and spies a man who appears to be selling them.

“Be right back,” Dean says, hopping to his feet and sprinting over to the salesman. A couple dollars and a quick transaction later, Dean returns with a grin.

“You’ll love these, Cas,” Dean says, pulling two sparklers from their box and plucking a match from the matchbook sold with the sparklers.

“What are they?”

“Sparklers, man. Handheld fireworks,” Dean replies. Dean responds to Cas’ inquisitive glance by striking the match and lighting both sparklers. With a subdued fizzing noise, the sticks come to life in an excited agitation of sparkling light. Dean hands one to Cas, who looks completely mesmerized. Dean feels a swell of excitement in his chest; if Cas is this pleased with some stupid sparklers, he can’t wait to see the look on his face when the real deal explode across the sky.

Cas is watching the sparkler slowly flicker out, and Dean won’t have that.

“No, man, you gotta… I don’t know, fuck around with them. Spin them and make designs in the air, y’know. Have fun.”

“They’re on fire.”

Dean laughs.

“Only technically. C’mon, Cas, trust me.”

Cas does. They go through the whole box, and then another, lighting them up and twirling them around all over the park. Dean feels like a kid again. The park is dark, but Dean can see Cas’ eyes and the way the white light reflects in it like little orbs and he loves how it looks. All Cas’ features look as alive as the sparkler he’s holding, and it’s a far more beautiful sight to behold than the cheap fire trick.

Once they’ve made it through the second box, Dean remembers the time and remembers that they still haven’t chosen where they’re watching the fireworks. Dean doesn’t know very much about Philadelphia, so he has no idea where he’s going to have the best view.

“We need to find a local and ask where the best fireworks spot is,” Dean tells Cas, and they both look around. The park is starting to empty out; it’s getting late and fireworks will be starting soon.

“How about the man selling the sparklers?” Cas suggests. Seems like as good an idea as any, so Dean tells Cas to hang on a sec and heads over to the man.

“Back for more sparklers?” the man asks with a warm smile when Dean reaches him. The man is old, probably in his mid-sixties, with kind eyes that suggest he sells sparklers simply for the joy of watching the happiness they bring people, rather than any monetary gain. He vaguely reminds Dean of Joshua. Dean returns the man’s smile easily.

“Nah, if I give him any more, he’ll wear himself out before the real show begins. Which is why I’m here – do you know any good spots to watch the fireworks? It’s packed by Independence Hall and… I don’t know, I kinda want to give the guy the best seats I can. I think these are his first fireworks.”

The man nods knowingly.

“You two are in love?” he asks, and Dean is caught off guard. Not exactly the answer he was expecting, but Dean’s not ashamed so he answers boldly, regardless.

“Yes.”

The man nods again.

“If you would be willing to humor an old man, I could show you myself.”

Logically, meeting a strange old man in the middle of Philadelphia at night and agreeing to get into a car with him to go to some unknown destination would be a bad idea. But Dean prides himself on having phenomenal instincts, and he can’t read anything but good intent on this guy. He gives him a once over and then meets his eyes, which seal it for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” the man says, “but we should hurry; they’ll be starting soon.”

The man starts to put away his sparklers and Dean beckons Cas over. Cas looks characteristically confused and curious, a combination that is completely adorable, as per usual. Dean doesn’t explain, partly because he has no idea where they’re going himself, and partly because he wants to keep that endearing look on Cas’ face.

*

The Sparkler Man was not kidding when he said he knew the most beautiful place in the city to see the fireworks.

As soon as Dean sees the edge of the water of the Schuylkill River, it makes perfect sense. He can instantly picture how amazing everything will look from the shore, with the horizon so wide in front of them, stretching over the dark water. Once they’ve parked, Dean’s all set to thank the guy when he realizes that the man is busying himself with untying whatever is attached to the roof of his car, under a tarp. Dean and Cas quickly rush to help him – and then it makes even  _more_ sense.

It’s a boat.

“Oh, dude, you don’t have to-“ Dean starts to say, but the man holds up a hand to quiet him and shakes his head.

“It is my pleasure. My wife and I spent our first Fourth of July as a married couple in a boat on that river, watching fireworks. That was forty years ago. I think she’d… I think she’d have liked to see this boat of mine get some use. Particularly such a good one as this.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Cas says firmly, shaking the man’s hand in that awkward way of his. The man seems to find it charming and not weird, which is what Dean was hoping, and he smiles at Cas.

“No need to thank me. As I said, the pleasure is mine.”

The man only asks that they tie the boat up by a nearby tree once they’re done with it, despite protests from Dean and Cas about the boat’s security there. The man insists it’ll be fine and they can do no more than believe him. He goes as far as helping them cast off from the shore before he goes, waving out the window of his car as he drives away.

“That was… freakishly nice,” Dean comments as he paddles his oar. It takes them a second to get into a rhythm that doesn’t have them turning in circles, but it doesn’t take too long to figure out.

“He was a very kind man,” Cas agrees quietly, looking up at the sky. Dean can tell that Cas is excited, in that muted way of his, anxious to see the sky set fire with color. The excitement is contagious, and Dean finds himself slightly antsy. They make it to the middle of the river in no time, and all they have left to do is wait.

“Dean?” Cas asks after they’ve been silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You make me very happy.”

Dean likes the way the words sound coming from Cas’ lips, and he can’t help but lean forward and give Cas a gentle kiss. The boat rocks slightly because of the shift in movement – but the sudden crash of sound that resonates through the air nearly makes Dean lose his balance. The first firework has been set off…

… and holy shit. The light from the sky reflects off the water in a way that is breathtaking. The river around them has become a dark canvas mimicking the sky, painting an image of everything its counterpart creates. The first firework is a bright explosion of pink followed by a dense burst of gold, glittery stars. The light fills the sky and the water around them simultaneously, and it’s nearly overwhelming. Crackles and loud bangs announce more fireworks bursting into life, creating a symphony to accompany the visual masterpiece.

It’s one of the most spectacular fireworks shows Dean’s ever seen, real or on TV, but Dean doesn’t watch the sky or water for very long. It’s only Cas he has eyes for, and the light show he sees in Cas’ eyes far surpasses anything he might see anywhere else. The thundering in Dean’s heart is the soundtrack.

As always with Cas, the beauty is in the subtly. There’s the way his mouth falls just slightly – ever, ever so slightly – apart, like he’s a tiny bit stunned by what he’s seeing. There’s the sight of his face silhouetted by so many colorful explosions, bright colors dancing across his skin like vibrant shadows. There’s the way his grip on the oar relaxes and tenses again, just barely perceptibly, every now and then, because he’s  _that_ into it, that caught up that he nearly forgets to hold on.

The best, of course, is in Cas’ eyes. Cas is not, by nature, very expressive. He doesn’t smile often, even when he’s happy, and laughs are hard won. Dean can always tell how Cas is feeling, though, because he knows Cas’ eyes better than anything. Those blue eyes look best when they’re happy, and right now Cas is ecstatic. Dean watches Cas, his own personal firework show, and thinks that he is beautiful. It’s a sappy sentiment and not one he intends to make out loud, but he quietly revels in the knowledge of it. He’s sitting in a boat on a river with a beautiful not-quite-angel who is in love with him. It’s kind of surreal.

There’s a dramatic lapse in fireworks when the show is nearly over, and Cas pries his eyes from the sky and looks at Dean.

“That was-“

“Not yet.”

“What?”

“It’s not over yet.”

“But, Dean-“

Cas’ confusion is interrupted by a barrage of explosions and a spectacular display from the sky and mirroring display from the water. The finale by far steals the show, and manages to steal their attention as well. Dean’s never seen such phenomenal fireworks, not in all his years watching the New Years’ ball drop on TV or seeing them set off in films. He’s not sure if Philadelphia’s just  _that_ good at fireworks or if it’s because Cas is beside him, or both, but Dean is feeling a sort of childlike awe he hasn’t felt since… well, childhood.

When at last the final firework makes its lovely mark across the horizon, Dean and Cas both look at each other at once. Dean can’t think of anything to say, and Cas can’t seem to either, but kissing seems like a suitable solution for the inability to speak.

“Happy Independence Day, Dean,” Cas says once they’ve ceased and are gathering up their oars to paddle back.

“Happy Fourth of July, Cas.”

*

When they make it home, some of the kids further down the block are dicking around with street fireworks Dean is not sure they are even legally allowed to set off in Media. It’s all in good fun, though, and Dean cheers for them as he drives by, grateful that they waited until he passed before setting off another. When they arrive in front of their flat, Dean and Cas can hear the faint sound of fireworks that are a pale comparison to the ones in the city. Dean cuts the engine and looks at Cas, who leans over and kisses him.

This kiss is considerably less chaste than the ones exchanged on the boat, which were laced with all sorts of symbolism that would probably make Dean dizzy if he thought about it deeply enough. This is much more probing and with an undertone of a promise, and Dean mentally fist pumps.

Dean bites at Cas’ lip and the sigh Cas sucks in is loud enough to fill the car. He reaches beside Dean adjusts the seat, sliding it back so he has room to crawl over Dean and straddle his waist. Dean’s pulse goes wild. His hands find Cas’ hips below the fabric of his stupid oversized shirt and Dean rubs circles over them with his thumbs, feeling the way Cas body moves towards the touch. Outside, a rather dramatic firework crashes loudly and startles them both.

“We should go inside,” Cas says in that deep, throaty way that indicates that play time is  _over_  and Dean needs no further request to pull the keys from the car and lead them to the front door. Dean can barely get his keys in the doorknob because Cas instantly has him pushed against the door, pressing his mouth against Dean’s neck. Dean’s breathing is unsteady and he nearly drops the keys twice before they make it in the door.

Another obnoxious firework goes off, but Dean’s all set to ignore it and start helping Cas out of his clothing. He is, that is, until he hears a rather frantic skittering noise coming from somewhere in the room. Cas freezes, too, and flicks on the light switch behind them. It takes no guesswork to determine the cause of the noise.

“Sunshine is frightened,” Cas says quietly, shimmying out of Dean’s grasp to their rabbit’s cage. Dean groans.

“She’ll be fine,” he says, walking over to Cas and slipping a hand around his waist from behind, trying to keep him from opening the cage by pressing kisses to the back of his neck. Cas tenses immediately – he  _always_ does, Dean knows the back of Cas’ neck is most sensitive – but another bang from outside sets Sunshine racing around her tiny cage madly again, and Cas composes himself.

“No, Dean,” he says, taking the terrified animal from her cage and tugging her close, “we can continue once our neighbors have gone to sleep.”

“But  _Cas_ ,” Dean whines, miserable at the sight of Cas sinking into the couch with their pet and getting comfortable.

“I cannot sleep with you, knowing our animal is afraid.”

“Augh.” Dean stares at the sight of Cas and the bunny on the couch for a moment. It’d be damn cute if said bunny wasn’t being a total cockblock right now.

“I’ll be right back,” Dean says decidedly, and turns around and walks out the door. The neighboring kids are more than happy to oblige to his threats of ‘ _Pack it up or I’m calling the fucking cops, I’m trying to get laid here!’_ Dean’s gone all of five minutes.

“Can we have sex now?” Dean asks irritably when he gets back in, taking Sunshine from Cas without waiting for an answer.

“Are they done?”

Dean locks Sunshine in her cage.

“Oh, they’re  _done_.”

“Then get on the bed.”

Dean does as he’s told, stripping off his shirt in the process. He sits on the bed and waits as Cas lights candles and shuts off the lights. Dean still can never tell if Cas is being romantic or if he really just likes his candles that much. He likes to think it’s a little of both. Cas shucks his own shirt and tugs off his jeans and boxers before striding over to the bed. Before climbing in, he pulls off Dean’s jeans and boxers himself, unzipping them slowly and pointedly first before yanking them somewhat aggressively all the way down. Then he gets onto the bed, body pressed against Dean’s, and he brings his mouth to Dean’s ear. His stubble presses against the skin there, and Dean shudders with his whole body.

“How do you want me?” Cas breathes in a gravel whisper that makes Dean’s hair stand on end.

“I want to fuck you,” Dean gasps in response. Cas nods and starts to move, but Dean grabs his arm to stop him. “No. Like this. I want to watch you –“ Cas distracts him by threading their legs together and pushing down with his hips. Dean bucks up automatically and bites back a noise, trying to finish his sentence. “-I want to watch you come apart above me, Cas.”  _Like a firework._  “Ride me.”

Cas’ response is a barely inaudible sound and a very audible ragged breathing. Without breaking apart from Dean, he reaches a hand blindly over the edge of the bed for lube. Cas presses the bottle into Dean’s hand and then situates himself so that he’s straddling Dean’s waist.

Dean’s first slicked-up finger makes Cas gasp and arch backward into it; one more brings a host of very satisfying broken breathing. The third finger manages to hit that _spot_ and gain a sharp “ _oh!”_ from Cas that sounds like a cut-short moan. Dean’s half content to finger-fuck his boyfriend into oblivion; Cas is writhing and making fucking phenomenal noises soon enough, pressing into Dean’s fingers as his own hands tangle in the sheets. It’s when Cas’ hand comes to fist at his own dick that Dean decides it’s high time he was inside his angel. He lightly bats Cas’ hand away and flexes up suggestively with his hips. Cas whimpers.

“Stop teasing,” he hisses, glaring at Dean. Dean smirks up at him.

“But baby, that’s practically your M.O.”

“Not a baby, Dean. And I prefer the teasing when I’m the one-“

Dean thrusts up again with a wicked grin, and Cas’ glare amps up ten degrees.

_“Get inside me, Dean,”_  Cas orders, with all the omnipotent implications as his first declaration of  _I am an Angel of the Lord_.

… Well, fuck. As if Dean’s immediate compliance was not already assumed (because, really, how could he  _not_?), Cas takes the initiative of lining Dean’s dick up and taking him in before Dean’s even able to process the command.

Dean throws his head back against his pillow, eyes shut tight, and moans because holy  _fuck_ if this position isn’t all kinds of amazing pressure. His mouth forms an open ‘o’ and his chest heaves. He waits with his whole body for Cas to move; but he doesn’t.

“Cas – please, move, Cas –“

“Open your eyes.”

Dean does as he’s told, forcing one eye open to look at Cas. Cas’ chest is shuddering just as hard as Dean’s, if not more; his forehead has a thin sheen of sweat and his eyes are lust-blown.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean gasps, because it’s the only word he has to describe how fucking hot the sight he’s seeing right now is.

“I want your eyes open,” Cas pants. “I want you to watch.”

“God, yes, anything you want, please just –  _fuck_.” Dean’s sentence is cut short because Cas complies to his unfinished plea; he moves. His body rocks in an unpracticed rhythm at first, but it doesn’t take long for each thrust to become calculated and precise and fucking perfect. Dean’s eyes keep wanting to flicker shut but, true to his word, he keeps them open. Cas’ eyes are open too, and it’s like Dean’s being fucked twice; the heat of their eye contact alone could probably get Dean off.

Cas leans forward and entwines his fingers with Dean’s, clenching their hands together in a vice grip as he moves. Cas is closer, now, and Dean can see every detail in his face. The short and sharp gasps he makes with each push of his hips send electricity through Dean’s spine.

Dean can feel himself riding the edge of release and he wants to take Cas with him. With the hand already slicked up, he takes hold of Cas’ dick and jerks him off, trying to keep in time with Cas’ motions. He’s not entirely successful, but the onslaught of nonsense sounds pouring from Cas’ mouth seem to imply that it doesn’t matter.

Cas comes first and it’s beautiful watching him like this, seeing his muscles seize up and his eyes fall shut as he cries out. This sight is what sends Dean over the top and he follows Cas soon after with a choked utterance of Cas’ name. Cas has just enough energy post-climax to pull off Dean before collapsing on top of him. They lay like that silently for a moment, both composing themselves. Finally, Dean laughs.

“Baby, you’re a firework,” he says.

“What?”

“It’s a Katy Perry – you know what, forget I said that. I love you, Cas.”

“… I love you as well, Dean.”

 


	16. Work It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas explore the many definitions of ‘work’. Let’s just say, their Labor Day isn’t exactly spent as a day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked for Lyric, volunteer work, and sex. I delivered. Enjoy your holiday, folks.

Dean’s trying not to be annoyed at the fact that he’s awake at 8am on a Monday, on the one day when he  _doesn’t have to go to work._ He’s clutching a cup of black coffee – Starbucks, courtesy of Cas, because he’s the reason they’re up this goddamn early – and looking around blearily. Dean’s hair is an unstyled mess and he’s hoping that Cas made sure his outfit was at least somewhat decent, because he sure as hell didn’t himself. He’s vaguely aware of a cream cheese bagel on the table before him and that it’s supposed to be his breakfast.

 

Cas, on the other hand, is bright eyed and quite alert; Dean’s at a loss. All he cares about is the fact that it’s Labor Day and they are  _not at home_ , not relaxing, enjoying the paid time off. Typically their days off are unpaid and spent tracking down and ganking all sorts of evil sons of bitches. This was the one day they were supposed to take it easy, relax, and…

 

… and  _not_ go volunteer at a soup kitchen.

 

“Finish your breakfast, Dean. I need your help,” Castiel says from across the room, where he’s wiping down tables. They’re in a church basement, helping set up before the doors are opened to the homeless. The place is empty, for now. The only people here are other volunteers like themselves, who are setting up chairs, sweeping or otherwise preparing for the oncoming rush. When Dean looks up to look over at Cas, he realizes he’s the only one sitting down. He heaves a sigh.

 

“I’m not hungry,” he calls back, wrapping up his food. He glances around for a trash can – and it must be obvious what he’s looking for, because he catches sight of another volunteer, who’s glaring at him. And, yeah, okay – wasting food at a soup kitchen, not the best idea. He smiles and waves awkwardly before tucking the thing into his blessedly oversized jeans pockets and walking over to Cas. When he reaches him, Dean leans forward and rests his forehead against Cas’ back.

 

“I hate you,” he mumbles groggily into the fabric of Cas’ thin and characteristically hideous sweater. The temperature’s been low, lately, promising an early autumn. The past couple of days have been cool enough for Cas to break out the ugly cardigans, and Cas has been ecstatic. The basement hall they’re in has the air conditioner on full blast, but Cas is comfortable and cozy in one of his sweaters from early autumn of last year.

 

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas says in a humored tone.

 

“No. It’s eight in the goddamn morning. We should be in bed. Or  _I_ should be in bed, and you should be making me breakfast – or we should be  _skipping_ breakfast and having really hot morning s – ” Cas covers his mouth to cut him off.

 

“Dean. We’re in a church,” he says with a slightly bemused glare before lifting his hand from Dean’s mouth.

 

“Augh. Exactly my point.”

 

Cas moves away and Dean staggers forward a bit. He scowls at Cas as the man hands him a rag and a bottle of table cleaner. Cas chances a quick peck to Dean’s cheek before heading off a couple tables away to continue cleaning. Dean groans irritably before he gets to work spraying a table and scrubbing it down a little more aggressively than necessary. The sharp, almost-too-clean smell Dean usually attributes to newly cleaned gas station bathrooms fills his nose and he feels a little sick.

 

When everything else is set up, Dean’s assigned the task of cutting bread to go with the soup that will be passed out. It’s dull work because Cas is off doing other things and isn’t around for Dean to bump elbows with. Or smirk at. Or flirt with. The group who organizes the kitchen had been ecstatic to find out that Cas works as a cook (albeit at a local diner), and the job of preparing the soup had fallen almost exclusively to him. Sure, the vegetable dicing and all the trivialities are up to other volunteers, but Cas is pretty much the master chef. Dean would be proud if that didn’t mean less time for him with his boyfriend.

 

When the soup’s done, the big pots of it are brought to a line of rectangular serving tables at the front of the hall, along with the baskets of bread. Dean, however, doesn’t stick around to help in the process of transporting everything, and doesn’t let Cas do so either. Instead, he grabs Cas the moment the cooking’s done and tugs him away, leading him through the door to the stairs and up to the chapel.

 

“We’re not done helping, Dean,” Cas protests weakly on the way up, but Dean ignores him. Once they’re safely apart from everyone else, closed away in the dimly lit chapel, Dean draws his angel close by the loops of his belt. Cas leans forward, rests his head on Dean’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck; Dean thinks he can  _feel_  Cas smiling. Dean slips his arms around Cas’ waist and they’re quiet a moment. The chapel is silent but for the gentle sound of their breathing.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmurs into Dean’s neck. Dean chuckles and moves back, holding Cas at arm’s length and giving him a grin and a raised eyebrow.

 

“Why are you thanking me, man? You’ve got a habit with the ‘thank you’s at random times, you know that?”

 

Cas’ returning look is fond.

 

“For coming with me. This was very important to me. It is good to have you here as well.”

 

Dean bites the inside of his cheek because the quiet, earnest honesty under Cas’ words surprises him. Sometimes he gets these tiny glimpses into just how much Cas cares, how much Cas likes having him  _around,_ and it’s overwhelming. Dean’s new to the whole ‘self-worth’ thing, and the idea that Cas could be so teeming with happiness over Dean’s mere presence is still mind-boggling.

 

“Hey, no problem, Sunshine. That’s what we’re all about, right? Saving people?”

 

Cas tilts his head to the side with a curious look on his face. “Even if we’re not ‘hunting things’?”

 

It’s Dean’s turn to look fond.

 

“Yeah, well, superheroes don’t get off days, even when they’re not in uniform. C’mon, we’ve got some hobos to feed,” he replies, heading towards the door.

 

“Dean! That term is unacceptable!”

 

Dean just snickers and keeps walking, beckoning Cas to follow.

 

*

 

Two hours have passed since the doors opened to the public, and Dean is feeling substantially less fluffy about the whole affair, good intentions be damned. Cas has peeled off his sweater in favor of the godawful bright, neon blue shirts that say VOLUNTEER in tall black letters that the whole staff is wearing. Dean’s not entirely sure how Cas coerced him to wear one as well, but somehow he is, too.

 

His feet ache – they’ve all been standing and ladling out soup almost this entire time because, apparently, it’s not a job that can be done with a chair. Personally, Dean thinks he should be allowed an  _arm chair_ for this stunningly boring chore, but no one else seems to agree. On top of everything, Cas has been fluttering about, making sure spills are taken care of, trash cans are emptied regularly, the food supply is ample, etc., etc. The woman in charge of everything had to leave abruptly for one cause or another – Dean wasn’t paying attention – so Cas is pretty much heading the show here.

 

It’s annoying.

 

By the time it’s 11am, Dean’s ready to collapse on the floor where he stands. Just as he’s weighing the pros and cons of letting his legs give out under him, however, he hears a familiar voice. An excited, high-pitched voice.

 

“Mommy! It’s  _Dean!_ Is his husband here? Are they volunteering, too?”

 

Dean comes back from whatever foreign planet his brain’s been vacationing on and focuses on the present situation. The owner of the voice is a child – Lyric, the little girl he and Cas seem to be running into regularly, lately. She’s here with her mother, and both of them are wearing the same bright blue shirts as all the other volunteers.

 

He gives her a bright grin, and she giggles.

 

“Hiya, Lyric,” he says, “here to help out?”

 

Lyric pouts immediately, as though she was waiting for the question to be asked and had the expression saved to be used at the ready. “ _No._ Mommy says I have to stay out of the way.” To demonstrate the point, she holds up a coloring book she’s holding. “I have to sit in the  _corner_ and  _draw._ For hours! Hours and hours and hours,” she adds, punctuating the sentence with vigorous nods.

 

“That so?” Dean asks, playfully. Lyric’s mom looks sheepish.

 

“My babysitter bailed at the last minute,” she says, almost like she’s apologizing, “but I already committed to coming and helping out. She’ll be fine for a little while, she’s just being whiny.”

 

“No I’m not!” Lyric cries indignantly. Then, after a pause, “No I won’t! Not fine!”

 

Cas walks over to Dean, then, and he’s holding his sweater and has already grabbed Dean’s jacket for him. Their shift appears to be over. And, of course, that’s when Dean’s heart decides to be a bitch and speak for him.

 

“We’ll watch her,” he blurts out. Cas raises an eyebrow but says nothing, just gives Lyric one of his hesitant smiles and an awkward wave. The guy may be a hell of a lot happier than he was a year ago, but he’s still bad at smiling. What he lacks in emoting, though, Lyric easily makes up.

 

“Mommy! Dean and Cassy – Casst – Dean and his husband are gonna babysit me! Say yes,  _please._ ” The kid even falls to her knees in all out theatre drama style, grabbing her mother’s leg. Her mother heaves a big sigh and gives Dean and Cas a look like they’ve just delivered her a lifeboat, directly post-Titanic.

 

“Are you sure?” she asks them hesitantly. It seems to be enough of an answer for Lyric, who immediately hops up and starts spinning around excitedly. Dean is suddenly aware of just what he signed up for. Still, the girl is cute in her bobbing pigtails and Dean is definitely, 100% sure. One silent glance exchanged with Cas confirms that his partner is in agreement, and Dean nods.

 

“Yeah, we got it.”

 

“It’ll only be for two or three hours,” the woman adds quickly. She lowers her voice, then. “And by 12:30 she’ll be out like a light. Thank God, she still naps like clockwork. No idea what I’ll do when she grows out of that.”

 

“Thank God,” Dean echoes, watching Lyric spin around with seemingly endless energy. They exchange phone numbers and Cas gives Lyric’s mother their address before heading off, Lyric in tow. All through the parking lot, she’s chattering quietly to herself about Dean and Cas getting married – despite them apparently already being  _husbands_ in her eyes. Dean and Cas exchange a weighted glance and a shared sigh over the top of the car before all three of them pile in.

 

*

For all intents and purposes, Dean and Castiel’s flat is uninteresting. Its most exciting features are a disproportionate amount of candles and scattered picture frames throughout the place. Based on Lyric’s reaction, though, you’d think the place is Disneyland. She’s chattering excitedly the moment she walks through the door.

 

Dean, on the other hand, dives face first into the couch immediately, groaning in appreciation at the sweet, simple pleasure of no longer having to be on his feet. This leaves Cas as the sole responder to Lyric’s enthusiastic musings.

 

“Is this where you  _sleep?”_ Dean can hear her talking to Cas from under the couch pillows, “Do you sleep  _together?_ Is this your kitchen? Do you cook here, too, or just the diner? You have a bunny! Bunny! Can I hold her? Is she a girl? What’s her name?”

 

She barely takes a breath between questions, so Dean’s poor angel doesn’t exactly have time to respond to any of them. Dean figures this might be for the best, because Cas isn’t the best with talking. Rather than verbally respond to Lyric’s inquiries about Sunshine, Cas walks across the room to her cage and takes her out.

 

“Sunshine is easily frightened,” he tells her quietly. Lyric’s chattering instantly fades away. Dean sits up a bit, leaning on his elbows, and finds the two of them sitting on the bed. Cas has Sunshine cradled in his arms, and Lyric is gently petting her, eyes wide. The scene is unexpectedly endearing. Dean feels something catch in his throat.

 

Rather than think too deeply on it, he clears his throat.

 

“You hungry?” he asks Lyric, and she nods vigorously, still silent in fear of startling the rabbit.

 

“Shall I…?” Cas asks Dean. He’s typically the one who cooks, but Dean shakes his head.

 

“I haven’t made lunch for a kid since Sammy was little. I’m all over this.”

 

Cas gives Dean an odd, unreadable look before nodding and returning his attention to Lyric, who is now leaning against him and has her head pressed against his arm. She’s making little noises at the rabbit and wrinkling her nose like rabbits do. Dean heads for the kitchen, but not before giving Cas another long look, trying to find a name for the weird feeling in his chest.

 

Dean’s prowess with mac and cheese ought to be world renowned; it’s an art form, really, and Dean’s a regular Van Gogh in the trade. There are also chicken nuggets in the freezer for the rare days when Cas’ shift doesn’t line up with Dean’s and Dean is expected to feed himself. Chicken nuggets happen to be the absolute  _best_ compliment to mac and cheese, and Dean’s proud that his lunch for Lyric is as awesome as humanly possible. Dean makes enough for the three of them and, despite Cas’ brief remark on the meal’s lack of nutritional value (especially for a little girl), he has some, too.

 

After lunch, Lyric sleepily requests a book, rather than the Disney movie Dean offers. Dean and Cas exchange panicked looks before Dean remembers that Cas has a copy of Alice in Wonderland from a couple months ago. Thankfully, she seems content to listen to a book that relies more heavily on conversations than pictures.

 

The three of them pile onto the couch with Lyric between them and Sunshine on Lyric’s lap. Dean reads, because Cas is monotone and sucks at storytelling. Dean does all the voices and makes Lyric giggle.

 

She falls asleep between them, mouth slightly parted with her head against Dean. Dean quietly closes the book when he notices. Both men stand and Cas gently adjusts Lyric so that she’s laying on the couch. Sunshine seems content to stay beside her. Both Dean and Cas stand and watch her sleep a moment, totally transfixed. Finally, Dean tilts his head in the kitchen’s direction, and they head towards it in unison.

 

Cas makes tea for the two of them and they sit at the table, exchanging a quiet look. Dean smiles.

 

“Sorry I gave you even more work on Labor Day,” he whispers. “I probably should have asked first.”

 

“It wasn’t work,” Cas replies seriously, not catching the underlying humor in Dean’s tone. “I enjoy her company.”

 

“I do, too,” Dean agrees, scarcely audible. He glances in Lyric’s direction. I could get used to having her around.”

 

There are deep thoughts clawing at Dean’s mind and he’s having trouble pushing them down. Blessedly, that’s when a knock comes from the front door. Dean’s up immediately, partly to cut off the knocking before it wakes Lyric, and partly to escape the tight feeling in his chest.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly, ushering Lyric’s mother in with a finger to his lips. She catches sight of Lyric asleep on the couch and she smiles.

 

“You know, she really likes you two,” she whispers fondly, directing her smile at Dean. “She’s always asking to go to the diner so she can see you. And she hates that Cas works in the kitchen where she can’t see him.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Dean says with a chuckle. “She’s a sweet kid. We had fun. If you ever need a babysitter again…”

“I’ll definitely call you,” she agrees. The idea of seeing this energetic girl on a regular basis makes Dean grin, compelled by whatever feeling is surging in his heart.

 

“I’ll carry her to your car,” he offers, “so she doesn’t wake up.”

 

And so he does, reveling in the strange sensation of having a small child in his arms. He hasn’t experienced this feeling since Sam was little enough to carry, and it’s… weird. Again, he searches for the word that describes it, and he can find none.

 

  
*

 

When Dean comes back in, he beelines for the bed, toeing off his shoes on the way and tugging off his jeans. He’s  _exhausted_. He’s not complaining, of course, but the fact of the matter is that he’s spent his Labor Day doing more work than he usually does at the diner. Babysitting Lyric was definitely an awesome experience, and Dean can (begrudgingly) admit that even volunteering was rewarding… but now is time for some very hard-earned sleep. He doesn’t even bother pulling the covers over himself; he’s  _that_ tired.

 

Sleep is coming to him fast, and he’s just about to pass out when he feels the bed dip and Cas moving in next to him, close. Dean doesn’t even bother opening his eyes because he’s content to fall asleep pressed beside Cas.

 

Cas, however, has  _other_ plans.

 

All of a sudden, Dean can feel Cas’ mouth at his ear, breath warm and close. He slips an arm around Dean’s waist and Dean goes still all over.

 

“I know it is Labor Day, Dean,” Cas whispers, voice low and rough, “but would you oblige me in a little  _more_ work?” To demonstrate Cas’ definition of ‘work’, lest the implication wasn’t obvious enough, he gently nips at Dean’s ear. Dean gasps and his eyes snap open.

 

“Jesus  _Christ_ , Cas,” he chokes, rolling to his side so he can look at Cas. Cas’ eyes are already dark, laced with enough lust to make Dean shiver. Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s waist and all thoughts of actual rest instantly flee Dean’s mind. He slips a hand into Cas’ hair and gives a gentle tug and Cas’ reaction – a quiet, swallowed whimper – is more than satisfying. Cas slips a leg between Dean’s thighs and their lips meet.

 

Kissing Cas is different than kissing anyone else Dean has ever kissed in his entire history of hookups (which, for the record, is an almost embarrassingly high number). Cas’ formerly unpracticed mouth has developed a sort of finesse to it; the would-be angel is now an experienced kisser. But it’s more than  _talent_. Dean thinks it might have to do with the fact that Cas’ first kiss was with him, just as every kiss since. Everything Cas knows was imparted to him by Dean. So it’s not just talent – it’s an intimate, intense knowledge of how Dean works. It’s close to someone like Dean’s never been, and it’s almost scary. No – screw  _almost_. It’s terrifying.

 

In a good way.

 

Their kisses are broken up by short sounds every now and then, each one upping the rate of Dean’s pulse. The subtle arch of Cas’ hips against his own send sparks of electricity coursing through his system. It’s a slow thing, all buildup and anticipation, and every moment Dean can feel himself slowly coming undone. Just ravaging Cas’ mouth, fists curled in the other man’s hair and bodies pressed close, is enough to drive Dean crazy. Cas’ hands slip under his shirt and he  _whimpers_.

 

“So fuckin’ hot, baby,” Dean babbles stupidly; his mind is sort of short circuiting. Their chests are tight against one another and Cas’ hands are tracing the edges of Dean’s shirt, fingers skirting just barely over his skin.

 

Cas bites Dean’s lip sharply, just shy of being painful.

 

_“Not a baby, Dean,”_  he hisses, and thrusts upward with his hips purposefully, earning a sharp gasp from his partner.

  
“Alright, alright,” Dean says breathlessly, “still fuckin’ hot.”

 

The buildup is at once ecstasy and agony. It’s  _so good_ , just lazily tongue-fucking each other’s mouths and letting their bodies tremble on autopilot. But it’s also _overwhelming_. Every nerve-ending on Dean’s skin is alight with a fire that begs for  _more_ , begs to be claimed and destroyed and loved from the inside out.

  
Cas’ kisses trail from Dean’s mouth, to his jawline, to his neck. He nips and sucks just how Dean likes it, and Dean utters a quiet, shaky moan in response.

 

“Cas,” he rasps, tugging hard at Cas’ hair. Cas doesn’t reply, just sucks a hickey into the skin where Dean’s neck and shoulder meet.

 

_“Cas,”_  Dean repeats urgently, pulling Cas back by his hair so that he can look in Cas’ eyes.

 

“Yes?” Cas asks in a tone that is nearly annoyed, eyes flickering back to Dean’s neck as though he’s eager to go back to unfinished work.

 

“Fuck me,” Dean orders sharply, hooking a leg around Cas’ waist to accentuate the point. Dean’s not entirely sure if the noise Cas makes is human; he muses briefly that some of the angel in his boyfriend might have stuck around just to produce awesome noises in bed.

 

“As you wish,” Cas responds in a strangled voice. He tugs at Dean’s shirt almost violently, pulling it over his head and discarding the awful neon blue thing at last. Dean quickly returns the favor and there’s a sweet moment of skin-to-skin where both sets of hands roam greedily over the other’s body. It’s bliss.

 

Boxers are discarded quickly after and then there’s nothing between them. Dean sort of wishes it was always like this, that he’d never have to break from the intense bliss of being full flesh against his lover. Cas rolls him over and straddles his thighs, leaning forward to kiss the nape of his neck. Dean bristles all over and gasps into the sheets, thrusting involuntarily down into the bed.

 

Cas kisses all over Dean’s back meticulously, giving each inch of it attention, biting and sucking when he sees fit. Dean’s writhing by the end of it, pleading with Cas, simultaneously pushing down into the sheets and arching his back. Dean can feel Cas smiling against his spine and he thinks he might be losing his mind.

 

“Cas,” he growls when the teasing has reached the level of  _too much,_  “Fuck me. Fuck me  _now,_ Christ, I’m not even kidding right now – oh my  _God.”_

Cas chuckles, dark and dirty, before Dean feels him leaning to the side of the bed to forage around for lube. Dean groans in a mixture of satisfaction and anxious anticipation. Cas’ abrupt slick fingers inside him make Dean fist at the sheets and his toes curl. He’s not sure what he says, but he’s pretty sure it’s probably incoherent.

 

“I need you on all fours, Dean,” Cas instructs, tugging at Dean’s waist. Dean complies immediately, chest heaving and breath coming short and shallow. It’s a new position that they’ve never done before, and the feeling of Cas on his knees behind him, hands gripping firmly to his waist, makes his pulse jump.

 

The only forewarning before Cas pushes in is the feeling of his nails digging in where they’re gripping Dean. Like their kissing, his thrusts are  _slow,_ measured, hitting deep at Dean’s prostrate  _every fucking time_. Dean’s sputtering nonsense and profanities at this point and Cas is repeating his name like a mantra, like it’s killing him in the best possible way. It’s perfect… except –

 

“Fuck, Cas, no – I need to  _see you_ ,” Dean gasps, proud of himself at getting a coherent sentence out.

 

“What?” Cas asks in this distracted way, like he’s off on some other planet that’s pure pleasure and his mind can’t process words.

 

“Your eyes – oh  _fuck,_ Cas – your eyes, I can’t see you, oh God, fuck –  _Cas_.” Speaking clearly is an impossible effort. The position is amazing and the sex is mind-blowing… but it’s not  _right_  unless he’s looking into Cas’ eyes. Because half of their chemistry, half of what makes him crazy whenever they have sex is the sheer heat of their eye fucking, the way Cas’ eyes can sear through him like the best kind of knife.

 

“You want to look at me,” Cas says, slowing his movements to a stop. Dean almost regrets the request.

 

“Yes – God yes. Just wanna see those eyes of yours, angel,” Dean says, swiftly seizing this moment of coherent speech. “Wanna look right into your eyes when you fuck me stupid.”

 

Dean wishes he  _could_ see the reaction on Cas’ face to that, but of course, all he has is his imagination. That, and the way he can  _feel_ Cas go tense all over. He pulls out without a second thought – so instantly it’s almost comical – and lays on his back beside Dean. Dean rolls over, leans up on one elbow and looks at Cas. And  _fuck,_ was he ever missing a good view. Cas’ cheeks are flushed and red; his hair is wet with sweat and sticking up at all angles in a phenomenal display of sex hair. His pupils are blown to black orbs with blue trim and every bit of his features looks wildly impatient for  _more_.

 

“I want you on top of me,” Cas rasps, voice sounding just as wrecked as he looks. “Ride me, please.”

 

Sometimes Dean wonders if Cas’ bedroom manners are actual pleas or if he’s just that polite, but it always comes out rough and raw and Dean really couldn’t give a fuck either way. Not like he could refuse Cas anything, not when he looks like this – like he wants Dean so bad it might kill him if he can’t, like the idea of not having Dean on top of him in two seconds flat is inconceivable. So Dean doesn’t hesitate, just moves in for a swift, deep kiss before scrambling over Cas’ body and straddling his waist.

 

Switching positions  _before_ orgasms is unprecedented, so Dean isn’t ready for the shock of how differentit feels, how hypersensitive his nerve endings already are that they’re practically lightning bolts dancing across his skin. It’s disconcerting to go from rutting into the sheets to sinking onto Cas’ dick and being on top, instead. It’s also pretty phenomenal.

 

Dean rocks with a steady rhythm that has Cas writhing in seconds, clawing at the sheets and gasping Dean’s name.

 

“Eyes open, Sunshine,” Dean orders. He watches as Cas’ eyes snap open and he looks up at Dean. There’s an electric moment when their eyes meet that makes everything feel that much more  _real_. Then Dean grins and it catches, because Cas smiles, too.

 

Cas’ hand finds Dean’s dick and Dean moans, pegging Cas with a dark, lust-lidded look that he refuses to break. Dean’s not sure what’s burning more hotly – Cas’ hand, which is slowly, agonizingly stroking him in a pace that’s far too slow to be anything but teasing, or the fire in the blue of his eyes. Dean can’t pinpoint just  _when_ Cas acquired this penchant for making him writhe and beg with too-soft touches, but it’s the best kind of awful and he fucking loves it.

 

“Cas,  _please_ ,” Dean begs in a wrecked, tortured voice, like he’s pleading for water in a desert or something. Cas’ thumb lightly traces the head of Dean’s dick and he thinks he might actually be dying. The noises he’s making are surely the sounds of a man close to death.

 

Cas finally – finally,  _finally_ – has mercy on Dean’s piteous plight and ups his pace, showing off his artless finesse with making Dean fall apart. By this time Dean’s already been riding the edge of an orgasm for what feels like friggin  _years_  now. It doesn’t take much to push him that much further, until he’s coming so hard his body shudders in waves.

 

He’s dizzy with the aftermath of his mind-blowing orgasm when Cas comes inside him, making his over-sensitized body burst with another rush of pleasure that is borderline  _too much_. Only now do they break their gaze, closing their eyes and composing themselves.   

 

Dean musters up just enough energy to pull off before collapsing in a sweaty, sticky heap on top of Cas. He buries his face in Cas’ neck, breathing in the comfortable, familiar smell of  _Cas._  He inhales deeply and he laughs.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks curiously.

 

“I’m going to be walking funny for a week, Cas. Jesus.”

 

Cas chuckles.

 

“That will make it difficult to wait tables.”

 

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

 

Cas presses a kiss to the top of Dean’s head.

 

“Any time, Dean.”

 

*

 

Dean thinks a shower would probably be a better alternative to wiping themselves clean with one of the discarded blue volunteer shirts, but Cas almost religiously has a cup of tea after sex and he doesn’t seem willing to stop now. Dean doesn’t mind; he could go for a cup of coffee himself. A shower, or maybe a bath with Cas, can wait a little while.

 

They don’t bother redressing in more than boxers before they trudge to the kitchen. Dean is aching, as expected, but it’s a good kind of soreness that makes him smirk despite himself. He catches a look of smug satisfaction on Cas’ face and he feels himself go red, which is pretty goddamn embarrassing.

 

Their bare shoulders brush as Dean sets the coffee machine and Cas puts water in a kettle to boil. They both lean against the counter, waiting for their respective hot beverages to heat, and it hits Dean in a wave how incredibly  _domestic_  this moment his – his  _life_  is. He’s standing in a kitchen, for one. He never had a kitchen growing up, not since he was four years old, so that in itself is mind-blowing. Let alone the fact that he’s standing here with a man he’s been in a committed relationship for… could it really be eight months? Eight months since their first kiss, and they’re still together.

 

And  _happy_.

 

So Dean’s got his kitchen and his boyfriend and actually did  _volunteer work,_ like, voluntarily, and babysat a little girl and it’s so friggin domestic that it’s overwhelming. Sometimes he  _still_ can’t get over the fact that this is his life, that he gets to have this. Sometimes it’s too much.

 

Cas must pick up the look in Dean’s eyes because he furrows his brows and gives him a measured look.

 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, head tilted slightly to the side.

 

“You. Us,” Dean responds truthfully, meeting Cas’ eyes.

 

“And what of us?”

 

Dean clears his throat and looks away, choosing instead to look at the coffee pot.

  
“Just that we should make a sex tape sometime, man. I’m pretty sure we’d be the hottest porno ever made.”

 

Cas gives him this face like he doesn’t believe him, but after a moment he just shakes his head fondly and goes about fixing his tea.

 

“We’re not recording any acts of intercourse, Dean.”

 

“It’d be hot,” Dean says conversationally as he pours his coffee. “Then you’d get to see how fucking sexy you look when you’re fucking me –”

 

Cas makes a nearly silent, strangled noise. Which, of course, Dean notices and grins at.

 

“You’re so cavalier when you say these things,” Cas says in a small voice, taking his cup of tea to the table.

 

“I’m just making conversation,” Dean says facetiously as he follows, still smirking.

 

Cas puts his tea on the table, gently lifts Dean’s mug from his hands and places it beside the other. Before Dean knows it, Cas is kissing him again, crowding into his personal space and wrapping an arm around his waist. Dean’s eyes widen because he’s so taken aback, surprised by the sudden ferocity of Cas’ mouth against his. They end up backed against a wall, Dean pinned between it and Cas.

 

“You’re like a teenage boy today, Cas, holy shit,” Dean gasps between kisses.

 

“I seem stuck on the notion that we should work our entire day off,” Cas says simply, parting Dean’s lips with his tongue.

 

Dean gets lost in that same sweet sensation of exploring Cas’ mouth. He slips a leg between Cas’ thighs and pulls him tight, not surprised to find the other man half hard already. It makes him feel a little giddy with pride, that he’s able to make Cas want it that bad so  _fast._

 

Dean spins them around so that Cas is the one against the wall, and then he drops to his knees. He can hear Cas moan his name as the angel slumps back against the wall, throwing his head back in excitement at the mere idea of Dean sucking him off. Which Dean is totally, totally about to do.

 

Cas is a friggin  _freak_  when it comes to blowjobs, and frankly Dean’s a little envious because he knowshe doesn’t have Cas’ skill. Cas has this awesome thing where he _doesn’t have a gag reflex._ Dean’s not sure if it’s an angel thing or if Jimmy had some sort of awesome birth defect or if it’s a straight up gift from God himself, but Cas literally gets off on Dean fucking his mouth, with the added bonus of never making those boner-killing choking noises. It’s a friggin anomaly. Dean’s not even sure it’s medically possible.

 

Dean, on the other hand, has to hold Cas’ hips in place as he sinks down to keep the other man from involuntarily thrusting into his mouth. He digs his nails into Cas’ sharp hipbones just shy of being painful, eliciting a sharp gasp from Cas. Rather than pull him straight into his mouth right away once he tugs down his boxers, Dean trails kisses up and down Cas’ thighs and along his hipbones. Cas writhes and shudders.

 

“Dean, please –”

 

“Patience, Sunshine,” Dean says with a wink up at Cas.

 

“ _No,_ Dean – Dean,  _please,_ please?” His voice sort of breaks a little on the last note and Dean can’t help but comply, despite how hot it is to watch Cas fall apart as he teases him. He nuzzles against Cas dick for a brief moment before swallowing him down.

 

Giving Cas blowjobs is one of the most rewarding things ever, because the noises he makes are absolutely criminal. His moans and whimpers and pleas sound even more gratifying in the acoustics of their small kitchen. No matter how hard his chest heaves and how off-the-deep-end he seems, he always makes sure he’s looking down at Dean. So, again, there’s that eye-fucking element that makes this that much better. Dean’s hard and straining against his boxers.

 

There are few sights as phenomenal as watching Cas come undone.

 

Out of nowhere, Dean hears the word “ _Stop!”_  and he pulls back immediately, looking at Cas in confusion. He licks his lips and, okay, maybe it was a little more dirty a gesture than it needed to be, but he didn’t appreciate being tugged away before finishing the job.

 

“I don’t want to come,” Cas explains, and Dean raises his eyebrows and laughs.

 

“Is this some kind of orgasm denial thing? Didn’t know you were into that.”

 

Cas huffs. “Perhaps some other time. I just don’t want to come because I’d like you to fuck me first.”

 

Well, shit. Dean’s not one to ignore an order like that (though he  _does_ tuck away the “perhaps some other time” into the back of his mind for future reference). He’s on his feet in a second and between his own fingers and Cas’, his boxers end up around his ankles. He steps out of them and crowds in between Cas’ legs, pressing their stomachs flush against one another. He leans forward and brings his lips to Cas’ ear.

 

“I’m going to fuck you into this wall,” he says, low and quiet. “Make you sore like I am. Want you to feel me all week.” He says the most ridiculous shit when he has sex with Cas, but it seems to work for Cas – like really, really work – so he always does. Cas is practically putty in his hands, running at a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and Dean’s not even inside him yet.

 

“This is the part where I have to grab lube,” Dean mutters, annoyed at having to break away. Cas looks equally irritated, and Dean sees his eyes dart around the kitchen and rest on the olive oil in the corner of their counter.

 

“We could –” he starts, but Dean shakes his head immediately.

 

“I’m  _not_ prepping you with olive oil, dude. One sec.”

 

While Dean laments the loss of friction, he has to go commit the necessary evil of darting into the other room and grabbing lube. He’s back as fast as humanly possible and is back between Cas’ legs. Cas hooks a leg around Dean’s waist, distracting Dean from the process of slicking up his fingers.

 

“Hurry up,” Cas insists. Dean snickers.

  
“That’s not very polite,” he teases. Cas leans forward and bites Dean’s shoulder, hard.

 

“Neither is making me wait.”

 

“Fair enough,” Dean gasps, biting down hard on his lower lip.

 

He can feel Cas’ whole body tense as his fingers slip inside him, one after the other. His mouth is still at Dean’s neck and he’s breathing hotly into it, occasionally sinking his teeth in to smother up the mewling whimpers that keep escaping his throat. Cas wraps his leg even tighter around Dean’s waist.

 

“I’m not fragile,” Cas hisses irritably, followed by a grunt that shouldn’t sound nearly as sexy as it does, “you can add more fingers. Or, preferably, you can fuck me.” His forehead is sweaty against Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Easy, Cas,” Dean says, struggling not to choke on the words, “need to make sure you’re –”

 

_“I am ready, Dean,”_ Cas cuts him off, pulling Dean closer with his leg. Dean gasps at the intensity of the friction and he figures his angel knows best. 

 

Dean works out every day for two reasons. One, he’s still a kickass monster hunter, even if they do it less often now that they work at the diner. And two – debatably more importantly – for days like this, so he can hoist Cas up and push him against the wall so the other man can wrap both legs around Dean’s waist. Dean adjusts them so that Cas is at the perfect angle and he pushes in.

 

Cas’ head falls back against the wall and he moans Dean’s name – it’s seriously one of the most rewarding sounds Dean’s ever heard. Dean gets a steady rhythm going, pushing in and out and reveling in how he can feel Cas’ legs spasm around him. At some point he hears Cas choke out a scarcely audible plea of “ _faster, Dean, harder!”_  like some sort of bad porno, and it’d be cheesy if it wasn’t obvious how raw and  _honest_  it is. So Dean ups the pace, crushing Cas hard against the wall and pounding in again and again. Every now and then, Cas pulls his head forward and captures Dean’s lips, sliding his tongue in, assaulting Dean’s mouth with frantic, frenzied kisses. Dean writhes and whimpers with Cas and every one of his sense feels alive.

 

Cas’ thighs are squeezed tight around Dean’s waist, back arched in a way that has their hips perfectly lined up. Cas has just enough leverage to push up to meet Dean’s thrusts. There’s a perfect symbiosis to it that has them both on edge in the best possible way. Every deep, wild kiss makes it that much better. Every time they have sex – and they have sex a  _lot_ – Dean feels this crazy-scary-awesome level of connection that makes every round explosive. He thinks he’d be perfectly content to die fucking Cas.

 

Between the incomplete blowjob and the friction, Cas looks so hard it probably _hurts_. Dean’s extremely annoyed by the fact that he needs both arms to support Cas, otherwise he’d be jerking him off like a pro. Cas has his hands clamped to Dean’s shoulders for support, too, and Dean’s vexed. He wants to see the blissed-out look in Cas’ eyes when he comes.

 

Cas catches Dean staring at his dick, and he leans forward, bringing his lips to Dean’s ear.

 

“Don’t worry, Dean. I intend to come just from looking at you, feeling you inside me. You don’t have to touch me.”

 

“Christ, Cas,” Dean rasps, because holy shit if that isn’t friggin hot.

 

Dean can feel release rapidly pooling in his lower stomach, making his thrusts erratic and shaky. Cas tightens his legs’ grip on Dean’s waist and keeps the pace up with his own thrusts, maintaining their fast, intense pace until the very end. Dean comes with a cry of Cas’ name, shuddering with his whole body and letting his forehead fall forward onto Cas’ shoulder. It only takes a moment for Cas to follow after, back arching into his orgasm.

 

They sink to the floor in a heap with Dean sitting on Cas’ lap, straddling him. He kisses him again, short and chaste and in quick succession. It’s like he can’t get enough of Cas’ sweet, familiar taste. These kisses are tiny thank yous – and not just for the sex. For everything.

 

“Cas,” Dean says when their kisses finally ebb out, “we need a shower.”

 

Cas glances briefly at their forgotten cups of tea and coffee on the table, and Dean snorts. “Have your tea, Sunshine. I’m gonna go get cleaned up.”

 

“Or,” Cas says thoughtfully, idly tracing Dean’s chest with a finger, “we could both take a shower.”

 

“That works.”

 

“And while we’re in there I could return your favor from before,” Cas goes on, meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean raises both eyebrows.

 

“Dude, I think you seriously overestimate both of our recovery times. I’m literally about to pass out, and you’re suggesting shower sex.”

 

“Hmm,” is all Cas says. Then, after a moment’s contemplation, “A bath, then.”

 

Dean grins.

 

“I’m totally game for a bubble bath.”

 

Cas smiles in that small, soft way of his.

 

“I suppose we’ve certainly earned it after all the work we’ve done this holiday.”

 

“Yeah, dude. I think you misunderstood – the ‘labor’ part in Labor Day means you do  _no work_. Not that I’m complaining.”

 

“I enjoy doing work with you, Dean.”

 

Dean laughs.

 

“Right back at you, Sunshine.”

 

 


	17. Something That Lasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Sarah are finally getting married, and Dean's trying not to get caught up in the spider web of feelings that is getting spun around him. There's talk of "forever" left and right, of commitments and choices and Dean is... well, Dean is Dean Winchester, and he's not coping with it all very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS LONG. This is by far the longest update in the series - and believe it or not, there is still a lot of stuff I wanted to add and didn't get to.
> 
> Big thanks to my friend Jenn who spent a whole morning and the better part of an afternoon planning all the details of the wedding with me, and thanks to my friend Ginge for letting me bounce ideas off her at the fic's inception. Another huge, colossal thanks to a friend and beta who got me out of a writer's block I'd been stuck in, just by reading it and offering feedback. This fic would have just been an idea without her.
> 
> Some details I simply could not do justice with words, so if you're curious about anything (Sarah's dress, the first dance song, etc), go here: http://pinterest.com/nerdylittledude/sam-and-sarah-s-wedding/

Sometimes Dean sincerely doubts that he’s actually in a homosexual relationship. A homosexual relationship would require two  _men_.

 

It’s times like this, for instance, where Cas is sitting cross-legged on the couch with his cell phone pinned between his ear and his shoulder with four magazines spread on the coffee table before him. He’s got on his staple outfit of a hideous sweater and a pair of Dean’s jeans, a combination worn so often it might as well be a uniform for the guy. This particular sweater isn’t as bad as it could be as far as sweaters go, just a simple orangey brown with a bright, obnoxious orange leaf square in the middle of his chest. He has a pair of scissors and a bottle of glue in his hands and he’s leaning forward, peering closely at the page he has open. His brow is furrowed as though he’s confused. Dean walks in from the kitchen carrying hot chocolate for the two of them and can’t help but find the scene before him hilarious.

 

The phone slips from Cas’ ear and it hits the floor with a thud. Dean picks it up for Cas as he sits down beside him, thumb accidentally brushing the speakerphone button as he passes it over. Sarah’s voice sounds through the flat.

 

“Seriously, Castiel, I’d rather change the entire color scheme than do roses. I hate roses. Everyone does roses. Why did we pick red, again?”

 

“Red is your favorite color, Sarah,” Cas says evenly, opting to set the phone on the table, rather than turn off speakerphone and return the cell to its precarious position at his ear.

 

“Well, yeah,” Sarah says with a huff, “but we obviously weren’t thinking about  _flowers_  when we chose it. Everyone keeps showing me rose bouquets and Cas I swear to  _God,_ there will be no roses at my wedding! What do you think about blue? Blue’s a good color.”

 

Dean smirks because  _Jesus Christ, who knew flowers could be such a big deal?,_ and hands Cas his mug of hot chocolate. Cas sets down the glue and scissors in favor of cradling the cup in both hands.

 

“It’s too late to change color schemes. We will find you red flowers that aren’t roses.”

 

“I’m not so sure, Cas. The only ones I’ve found are hideous. Maybe I can throw a curveball and just not do a bouquet at all. Sound good?”

 

Cas shakes his head, as though Sarah can see it.

 

“It is essential. Don’t worry, Sarah. Your wedding will be satisfactory. A red bouquet without roses will be found.”

 

Sarah laughs, the sound of her relief evident even over the phone.

 

“Cas, you’re a lifesaver. How would I keep my head without you around? I gotta go – I’m going out with Sam in a few. Text me if you find anything good.”

 

“I will. Goodbye, Sarah.”

 

“Bye!”

 

Cas hangs up the phone, and Dean finally allows himself to laugh. Cas tilts his head, giving Dean a curious look. It occurs to Dean that Cas probably has no idea how weird his conversation sounded because he has no basis of comparison. These are the things that chicks discuss over pedicures.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks, clearly confused by Dean’s amusement.

 

“What are you, her maid of honor?” Dean asks, laughter tapering off. He sits back in his seat and appraises his angel with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk.

 

Cas frowns and tilts his head, brow wrinkling as though Dean’s completely lost him. It’s a look Dean’s very familiar with. “I’m not a maiden.”

 

Dean snorts. “You sure as hell act like one. All this talk of bouquets and color schemes has me thinking we should get  _you_ a dress.”

 

Cas wrinkles his nose.

 

“Your preoccupation with gender roles is very childish, Dean. Yet you never complain when you want a pie baked.”

 

“Baking is manly as hell. Making food with  _science_. I bet Tony Stark bakes. Bruce Banner, too.”

 

“I don’t understand those references,” Cas says, and then directs his attention to his hot chocolate. He makes an appreciative noise at the taste and sits back in his seat, cupping the mug close. He closes his eyes briefly and inhales the warm, chocolaty scent before taking a deep sip. Dean settles in close beside him and presses a kiss to Cas’ head. They’re quiet a moment, both sipping their hot chocolate.

 

“She’s changed it to ‘man of honor’,” Cas says after a while.

 

“Who changed what?” Dean asks. The peaceful moment has him sleepy and considering crawling into bed once they’re done their hot chocolate, pulling Cas with him.

 

“Sarah. She has no sisters and she… she says she considers me her closest friend, apart from Sam. She requested that I be her man of honor. I’ve accepted.”

Dean raises his eyebrows.

 

“You? Her best friend? Really?

 

Cas looks uncomfortable, eyes darting out of the corners of his eyes as he adjusts his grip on his cup.

 

“It would seem so,” he replies, looking away.

 

“Do you guys ever even  _talk?_ ”

 

“We text often.”

 

Dean’s expression becomes incredulous and he snorts. “You  _text?_  I didn’t know you knew how to text. You’ve never texted me.”

 

“I’ve never needed to. I am almost always with you.”

 

“Huh.” Dean takes a sip of his hot chocolate. “Well, cool. You and I can walk down the aisle together, then, since I’m Sam’s best man.”

 

Cas nods.

 

“I must admit I was pleased when Sarah asked, because I disliked the idea of you being paired with some woman.”

 

Dean chuckles and tilts his head so he can press a chase kiss to Cas’ neck. “Wouldn’t have mattered, angel. I only have eyes for you.”

 

Cas’ eyes fall closed and his mouth forms the slightest smile. They fall quiet again, and neither one moves or speaks until their hot chocolate is long gone. Eventually, Cas places both their cups on the coffee table and goes back to his magazines, paging through them. Dean stays leaning back against the couch, watching his boyfriend through half-lidded eyes. At one point, Cas pulls out his phone and takes a photo of one of the pages and sends a text, probably to Sarah.

 

Dean falls asleep after a while, and only stirs again when Cas gently beckons him to bed.

 

*

 

“Dean, you’re leering,” Sarah says with a smirk, one eyebrow arched. Dean blinks rapidly and shakes his head slightly to shake himself out of his reverie. He’s in Men’s Warehouse in the mall with Sarah and Cas, and the sight of Cas in a tuxedo has him gaping and considering jumping Cas in public. Which would be awkward, especially considering Sarah’s here.

 

To be fair, it’s not Dean’s fault Cas looks so goddamn sexy in a tux. It’s tailored to him and hugs his form in a way that accentuates his hips, showing him off like the prize he is. Dean’s smugly satisfied to call this man his own.

 

The wedding’s theme is formal and classy as hell, with a color scheme of red, white and black. Accordingly, Cas’ suit has a red tie and matching red handkerchief. It’s debonair in all the right ways and Cas looks dapper as hell in it. All the groomsmen are wearing the same suit, but Dean’s positive no one will look good as Cas. Not even Dean  _himself_ , which is saying something.

 

“Hey, I’ve got a hot boyfriend,” Dean says with a shrug. Cas looks pleasantly uncomfortable at the attention, warm red cheeks and stiff shoulders and all, and Dean feels accomplished.

 

“Dean,” Cas says tersely in a warning tone. Dean grins.

 

“I’m glad the suits look as nice in person as they do online,” Sarah remarks with approval. “I kind of wish we hadn’t waited until the weekend before the wedding to check em out.”

 

“Better late than never,” Dean replies. “Let’s rent them now.”

 

“You haven’t tried yours on,” Cas says, in a tone that is startlingly close to a pout. Dean steps in close to Cas and lowers his voice so only Cas can hear him.

 

“Later on,” he says, “so that I can  _take it off_ right after.”

 

Cas’ eyes widen and he gulps. Dean chuckles darkly, and Sarah clears her throat.

 

“You’re wearing that out of the store,” Dean adds before politely raising his voice to standard volume. “I think we’re done here.”

 

They rent their suits and exit the store with Cas looking awkward and uncomfortable wearing his suit in such a crowded area. And hot. In every sense of the word. He gets a few looks from strangers, ranging from expressions of confusion to lusty looks from women. One teenager sneers at him, “Getting married, dude?”, and Dean feels something inexplicable flip in his chest. Sarah gives him a knowing look, which is weird because Dean has no idea  _what_ she’s knowing. Characteristically, he ignores it.

 

_“Dean! Cassy-ell!”_ A child’s high-pitch voice cuts through the white noise of mall chatter, and Dean instantly grins. He glances at Cas and finds a similar expression, which is odd because although Cas is generally happy now, he’s not really given to impromptu smiles. The child is Lyric, of course, and she’s racing through the throngs of people toward them. She runs to Dean and gives him a hug as big as her tiny form can manage, and Dean feels a surge of feelings he can’t even begin to process.

 

“Hey, kid,” he says fondly, ruffling her hair. Her hair is in two loose braids that Dean all but demolishes with his rough, albeit fond, handling. Dean approves of her clothes; she’s got a faded grey Avengers t-shirt on and a pair of bright pink jeans, like she couldn’t decide what kind of outfit she wanted today. She has her eyes glued to Cas, sheer wonder glimmering in her gaze.

 

“You’re getting married,” she says, jaw dropping. Cas looks painfully uncomfortable, and Dean’s torn between amusement and something else, completely foreign. Sarah appears entirely confused, but she has a smile playing at the edges of her lips.

 

“Nah, kiddo, Sarah here is marrying my little brother. Cas is her man of honor.” Lyric’s expression is instantly crestfallen.

 

“Who’s this?” Sarah asks, watching Lyric fondly.

 

“Lyric. We babysit her occasionally,” Cas explains.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah says. Lyric grins and offers her hand, and Sarah shakes it.

 

“You too!” Lyric chirps.

 

Just then, Lyric’s mom, Jayne, arrives, wearing an apologetic smile.

 

“She runs off so fast!” she says, giving Lyric a look that’s only half stern.

 

“No problem,” Dean replies at the same time Cas says, “We enjoy her company.” Jayne laughs.

 

“That’s certainly comforting. So – why the tux, Castiel?” She glances at Dean in question with a raise of her eyebrows.

 

“Her wedding,” Cas quickly replies, gesturing to Sarah.

 

“I need a flower girl,” Sarah blurts out. Her eyes haven’t left Lyric once. She looks at Jayne, now, expression practically pleading. “What can I do to convince you to let me borrow her?”

 

The very idea of Lyric in a pretty little dress tossing flower petals makes Dean grin.

 

“Please?” he adds. Lyric hops up and down.

 

“Please, Mommy, please?” she squeals, staring at Sarah like she’s some sort of deity. Jayne looks uncertain.

 

“Where, exactly?” she asks, frowning slightly. Dean doesn’t blame her for hesitating; Lyric’s barely five years old, after all.

 

“Upstate New York. Cas and I can swing by Saturday night and pick her up,” Dean replies. “We’ll take good care of her,” he adds quickly in a reassuring tone. Lyric’s eyes are practically glimmering, all wide and big and pleading.

 

Jayne looks back and forth between Cas and Dean for a moment, and finally smiles tentatively.

 

“I know she’ll be in good hands.”

 

_“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”_  Lyric says in a rush of breath, and Dean actually fist pumps.

 

“Thank you,” Sarah chimes in. “She’ll be perfect.”

 

Jayne agrees to go with Sarah and pick out Lyric’s dress at the nearby bridal shop. Dean sorta wants to go – not that he’d ever actively say so – but Sarah dismisses him and Cas. She says that her dress is in the bridal collection they’ll be looking through for Lyric’s dress, and she doesn’t want them speculating. It’s fair enough, Dean supposes, but he kinda doesn’t want to wait a week to see Lyric all dressed up.

 

Which is really, really weird and almost  _paternal_ , but Dean is so, so not going there.

 

They all say their goodbyes and part ways with plans to see each other again on Friday, when Dean and Cas will be driving up to upstate New York to help prepare for the wedding. Cas looks visibly relieved when they get to the car and he’s out of the sight of strangers staring at his suit. Dean chuckles at the sight.

 

“It’ll be worth the embarrassment, baby,” he says with a wink.

 

Cas scowls. “Not a baby, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says dismissively. He kisses Cas, then, slow and deep and full of promise. When they pull apart, Cas is staring at his mouth.

 

“Please take us home, Dean. Now.”

 

Dean raises his eyebrows and smirks, but it’s not like he can ignore a request like that. He puts the car in drive and breaks a couple speed limits taking them home.

 

*

 

“Dean. Sam’s marriage is in six days and we haven’t purchased him a present.”

 

Cas has a habit of having no sense of context about when to launch conversations. For instance, Dean is still in a dizzy state of post-sex euphoria, full to the brim of fluffy feelings that are causing him to fondly card his fingers through Cas’ hair. His spare hand has Cas wrapped close, the other man’s back tugged against Dean’s chest. Dean’s even got a stupid smile on his face. The last thing he wants to talk about in this moment is his brother.

  
“You really are a moment killer, you know that?” he asks, rolling his eyes. He presses a kiss to the back of Cas’ head.

 

“We are somewhat pressed for time, Dean,” Cas says, twining his legs with Dean’s. “Knowing you, you probably haven’t even given it any thought.”

 

Dean chuckles because something like that would normally be true in most situations, but this time Dean actually  _has_ given it thought. A shit load of thought, actually. He takes a deep breath.

 

“I’m thinking about giving Sammy the Impala.”

 

There’s a loaded moment where Cas is completely silent and Dean’s holding his breath, biting his lip. It’s weird to say it out loud, to –

 

Then, Cas starts laughing.

 

Dean sits up immediately, shoulders going tense, and the nervousness drops from his expression. He glares at Cas. Cas sits up too, slowly, tilting his head in confusion. His blue eyes squint at Dean in the dim, early evening light that’s slipping in past their thick curtains. Cas  _never_ laughs – Dean can count the number of times he’s heard his angel laugh on his hands. The fact that he’d start now with such a gentle subject is… jarring.

 

“Dean,” Cas says once his quiet laughter has died out, “If we had a child, I wouldn’t offer her as tribute to your brother’s wedding, no matter how fitting it seemed. Likewise, she is your ‘baby’. I will not allow you to entertain this idea.”

 

Dean is completely stuck on the first part of Cas’ sentence for a moment; time seems to have stood still.  _‘If we had a child’_  – something about the easy way the words roll off Cas’ tongue makes all sorts of alarms go off in Dean’s head, and he’s not even entirely sure they’re  _bad_. Certainly more like an alarm clock than a siren.

 

Thankfully, he’s able to compose his thoughts quickly enough to focus on the actual point of what Cas is saying… and, yeah, the guy has a point. Dean was all ready for praise on what a selfless act of true devotion this would be, though, so he thinks he should at least put up some sort of defense for his idea.

 

“It’s… uh. Symbolic,” he says. Again, it sounds weird to say out loud.

 

Cas deadpans, blue eyes boring into green. A subtle quirk of the former-angel’s eyebrow is enough to make Dean crack into a smile.

 

“Just as if you’d given away a human child, no other parent could love your baby as much as you. Including Sam.”

 

Dean stares at him a long, thoughtful moment more before nodding.

 

“Especially Sam,” he agrees.

 

Cas rolls his eyes fondly before laying back down, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

 

“I suppose we have time. Not much, but some. We can sleep.”

 

Dean smirks – he counts this as a victory – and joins Cas, tugging him close. He buries his nose in the back of Cas’ neck and closes his eyes. He’s asleep before he even counts on it, lulled under by the familiar scent and warm feeling of his lover lying close.

 

*

It’s the Thursday before Sam and Sarah’s wedding, and they still haven’t thought of a present. Cas keeps giving Dean this look whenever the conversation comes up, as though  _Dean_ is supposed to figure this out all by himself. Sam’s his brother, yeah, so Dean gets the logic… but it’s still decidedly unfair. Cas is good with all this chick stuff. Dean has no idea where to start. They got a waffle iron as a backup present, but they both agree that the main thing has to be more meaningful.

 

It’s a lot of pressure, really.

 

They’re sitting at their table and Cas is serving an awesome breakfast of omelets and hash browns when the idea hits Dean. He’s not entirely sure what train of thought brought him to this sudden burst of inspiration, but he’s full of excitement when he voices it.

 

“Sam told me once, something that Dad told him,” Dean says, taking a sip of his coffee as Cas sits beside him. Cas could easily sit opposite Dean, but he never does. It’s awesome in an awkward way. Dean doesn’t mind.

 

“What’s that?” Cas asks curiously, furrowing his eyebrows, curious.

 

“He said that when Sammy was born, Dad opened a savings account. He said every month, he’d put a hundred dollars in that account – for college. We had a college fund, dude.”

 

Cas looks him over silently, as though trying to procure some kind of meaning from Dean’s words. After a moment, his eyes light up with understanding.

 

“You’re suggesting we open a fund for Sam and Sarah’s future children.”

 

Dean grins. “Bingo.”

 

Rather than give him an immediate proud look, Cas regards Dean with an unreadable expression that makes Dean uncomfortable. He feels like he’s about to start squirming.

 

“What?” Dean finally snaps, caving to his unease.

 

Cas appears to be broken out of some kind of reverie. He shrugs slightly.

 

“Nothing. You’re just… thinking like a father, Dean.”

 

The words fall like a lead weight on Dean’s chest and they’re heavy, startlingly potent. Cas says them like they’re nothing, but they’re  _not_. A scattering of goosebumps ghost across Dean’s skin in a wave and his heart seems to stop for a moment. Dean doesn’t know what to say. The word “father” doesn’t exactly have good connotations for either of them. That Cas can throw it out so easily, like it’s normal, like it’s  _possible_ … it’s overwhelming. In this tiny silent second, Dean feels something in him  _fall_  and he has no idea what it means – only that it’s terrifying.

 

“I think it’s a great idea,” Cas continues. “We may need to pick up an extra shift here or there, but you get very good tips and I doubt it will be often. Sam and Sarah will appreciate your ingenuity.” There’s true pride in Cas’ eyes, and Dean can’t take it.

 

“We need to hunt something,” he blurts out, taking Cas by surprise.

 

“What? …We were going to pack, Dean, remember? We leave for Sarah’s in the morning.”

 

Dean shakes his head vigorously.

 

“Later.” He stands from his seat abruptly and heads for the living room and the laptop, where he intends to search for a case until he finds one that can jar him out of this… this  _whatever_ it is, this flighty feeling in his gut that has him feeling like a spooked horse. Something bloody, something he can gank with a knife through a heart or a machete to a head.

 

He leaves his breakfast and Cas alone at the kitchen table.

 

*

 

They get home in the early hours of the morning, covered in blood and dirt, clothing torn. What they had assumed to be a particularly bloodthirsty vampire had turned out to be an Okami, which was infinitely more trouble to get rid of. The car ride alone verged on three and a half hours each way, and the hunt had a few near misses that had Dean’s heart pounding and pulse racing. The adrenaline was only half as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

 

When they get in the door, Cas slumps into the couch, dejectedly rubbing his fingers over the tears in his new Halloween sweater. Dean ignores this and walks into the kitchen instead of joining him on the couch. Dumb angel should have known better than to wear something he liked on a hunt. He stares at the cabinet where they used to keep the alcohol. It’s filled with boxes of mac and cheese, now, for the days when Lyric comes to visit. When he finally turns around, he’s surprised to find Cas behind him, head tilted, squinting at him.

 

“Come to bed, Dean,” he says quietly, placing a hand on Dean’s arm. Dean stiffens.

 

“Need a shower,” he mutters in reply, crossing the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water in lieu of something more substantial.

 

“Then come shower with me,” Cas persists quietly, mouth quirking down at the edges.

 

Dean is silent as he gulps his water. He can see Cas tracking the movement of his throat as the liquid slides down, stare as intense as it ever is. It isn’t until Dean’s downed the glass that Cas speaks.

 

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

 

“Nothing,” Dean replies, partially because he still doesn’t  _know_. “Start the shower, I’ll join you in a sec.”

 

“Will you?” Cas asks in a tone that clearly implies that he knows the answer, and that the answer isn’t yes. Dean doesn’t reply, just squares his shoulders and gives Cas an impassive look. Cas returns the look for a long moment before he sighs and leaves the kitchen. Moments later, Dean hears the faint sound of the shower running from the bathroom.

 

Dean finds his way to the couch and sits down, sinking deep into the plush cushions and tilting his head back to rest it on the back of the couch. He closes his eyes and squeezes his temples and wonders if he should try and sort out these weird feelings. He knows that Cas is probably quietly pissed over Dean’s behavior, which is never a good thing, and that he ought to explain somehow why he’s being such a dick. Unfortunately, his thoughts won’t push past the word ‘father’ without stop signs and red lights flashing at him.

 

Dean doesn’t mean to fall asleep in bloody clothes in an awkward sleeping position on the couch, but before he’s delved very far into introspection he’s out like a candle. Sleep settles heavily on him and sweeps him away before he has the chance to think of how to vocalize any of his impossible feelings to Cas. The last sleepy thing he thinks before consciousness slips from him is that maybe this gnawing trepidation in his gut is…  _wrong_.

 

*

 

An alarm clock set for bright and early rings and is ignored many times before Dean finally wakes up, several hours later. Dean’s got a killer crick in the neck and he cracks it loudly as he stretches, glancing across the room at Cas. Cas is lying in bed, curled to one side of it as though Dean’s presence beside him exists with or without Dean in the bed. Dean chuckles at the sight. He wonders if he does the same thing when he’s in bed and Cas is not… but that rarely happens. Most times, Dean is at fault when they’re fighting.

 

Dean’s gaze trails across the room, which is soaked in the late morning light that’s fighting its way in through their drawn curtains. It makes the flat seem open and friendly. It never occurred to Dean before that one of the things he likes about this place is how much sun it gets, how there are few shadows when the sun is out. Though, Dean’s pretty sure he could happy in a  _cave,_  now, as long as he has Cas.

 

A quick glance at his own clothes has Dean groaning quietly in disgust. Most of it is not his blood, just a coating of monster guts that sprayed all over him when they made use of a wood chipper to grind the son of a bitch to bits. It’s gross, and he could have benefited from a shower before bed.  _Should have showered with Cas_ , he realizes, stealing another glance at his sleeping lover. Whatever thinking his unconscious mind did in his sleep seems to have come to the verdict that he’s been being an idiot.

 

He strips to his boxers, chucking his gnarly clothing in a heap on the floor, and quietly crawls in bed beside Cas. He cuddles in close, slipping an arm around Cas’ waist. All is quiet in their tiny flat, save for the barely audible sound of Cas’ breathing in his sleep. Dean watches the rise and fall of Cas’ back studiously. He’s sleeping in one of Dean’s shirts, which is a fairly regular occurrence. Dean loves the way it looks on Cas. Dean loves  _Cas_. It’s a love that lives in his lungs and surges forth with every breath. Even when Dean’s struggling with feelings he can’t interpret and pinning them on Cas, even when he’s feeling flighty and stuck, overwhelmed by where his life has led him and where it’s going… even then, the thing that’s taken root in Dean’s core is unshaken.

 

Dean runs a hand along Cas’ back and is surprised to find the muscle there taut, stone beneath his fingers. Dean winces. Between his sharp behavior and insistence on going on a hunt at an extremely inopportune time, he’s stressed his angel out. Dean sometimes – no,  _often_  – forgets that Cas is human and that things do get to him. He’s not an impassive stone angel anymore; he feels and Dean can hurt him.

 

Dean shifts so that he’s straddling Cas’ thighs, careful not to wake him. He places both hands on Cas’ shoulder blades, feather light at first. Then, with a firmer grip, he begins kneading the skin of Cas’ back, working the tight flesh beneath his hands. They’re already late and are probably leaving as soon as Cas wakes up. Dean feels like he kind of owes it to the guy to send him into their long weekend relaxed and at ease.

 

Dean doesn’t have too big a role to play in this whole wedding thing, but Cas does. Dean may be the groom’s best man, but the only expectations of him are to stand by Sam and look pretty, and to have a suitably sappy speech prepared for later. Cas, on the other hand, will be involved in a host of wedding planning things that Sarah has requested his input on. A good portion of the ceremony and reception’s organization falls to the two of them, and Dean knows how anxious Cas is to make Sarah’s wedding perfect. It sounds like a hectic weekend, and Dean hasn’t exactly done his angel any favors by forcing it to start several hours late.

 

For quite some time, Dean works the concrete mess that is Cas’ back into something much more pliable. Eventually Cas melts beneath his fingers, and by the time the other man wakes up, he’s significantly less tense than before.

 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says groggily, uttering a small noise of satisfaction at the feeling of Dean’s hands massaging his back. Dean smiles. Cas has been greeting him the same way for years; the context never seems to be relevant.

 

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean says warmly, leaning forward to press a kiss to Cas’ upper back.

 

“Your mood seems to have improved,” Cas remarks, shifting to lay on his back so that he’s looking up at Dean. His eyes are inquisitive, eyebrows arched slightly in question. Dean shrugs, smile never leaving his lips.

 

“My little brother’s getting married!” he says, and it could be in response to Cas’ statement or it could be a complete avoidance of it altogether. Cas’ eyes widen and they dart to the alarm clock sitting on their bedside table. It reads “11:59” in bright red numbers and Cas frowns, shutting his eyes.

 

“I intended for us to leave hours ago,” he says dejectedly.

 

Dean shrugs, moving off Cas and sitting on the edge of the bed, stretching his limbs in all directions.

 

“Shit happens when you save lives for a living,” he says dismissively. “Sarah will understand.”

 

Cas gives no reply to this save for a short sigh. He reaches blindly for his cell phone on the nightstand and, when he’s unable to reach it, Dean leans over and hands it to him. Cas flips it open and scrolls through his phone, brow furrowing.

 

“Sarah has texted four times.”

 

“Then we should get going,” Dean says decidedly, smile ebbing slightly as he moves to stand up.

 

Cas shuts the phone and grabs Dean’s hand, tugging him back to sitting position.

 

“Soon,” Cas agrees, pressing a kiss to the back of Dean’s hand, “but first, let me return the favor.”

 

It occurs to Dean to protest and insist that they leave sooner rather than later, that he’s already made them late enough, but… Dean’s never been one to deny himself simple pleasures. Cas is the one who’s all about planning and time and organization, anyway, and Cas thinks they have time for this. So Dean lets Cas gently lead him so that he’s lying on his stomach, face pressed into the soft pillow that smells like his boyfriend. He lets his eyes fall closed as he feels Cas’ nimble fingers skirting across his back, drawing shapes absently at first. Cas has revealed in the past that these seemingly meaningless designs he often draws on Dean skin are Enochian poetry.

 

Dean gives an undignified grunt when Cas adds pressure and then sighs deeply when his touches ease into a firm rhythm. He hadn’t realized how stiff he was until now, and it strikes him how much their moods play off one another. He wonders if it’s even  _possible_ for one of them to be happy while the other is upset. Dean’s fairly certain that it’s not. The realization makes him feel inexplicably warm all over.

 

“You need a shower,” Cas announces after an indeterminable amount of time, once Dean’s nearly asleep again with how relaxed he feels. The knots in his back are all worked out. “Shower and then we leave immediately. I’ll make us a quick breakfast while I wait.”

 

“Or,” Dean says thoughtfully, rolling over and wrapping an arm around Cas’ waist, pulling him down, “you could come shower with me, and we’ll get a drive-through breakfast somewhere.”

 

Cas presses a soft kiss to Dean’s mouth.

 

“I like that idea.”

 

Cas kisses Dean again and Dean forces himself to sit up, lest he get lost in the magic of it, as it’s so easy to.

 

“I love you,” Dean says, and Cas tilts his head and just  _looks_ at him, like he’s staring  _into_  him.

 

“I love you as well, Dean,” he replies. “Just as you are – I will never ask more of you than what you are willing to give.”

 

Cas seems to understand Dean’s feelings despite the fact that Dean himself still isn’t exactly sure what’s going on with them. Cas’ words put him at ease, though, and give him the courage to add his own.

 

“Well, then I’ll make sure I’m never unwilling to give exactly what you need.”

 

Cas’ expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t reply to this, just keeps wearing that  _stare_ of his that is so goddamn pure and laser-pointed that Dean would be unnerved if he wasn’t so used to it. After an almost too-long moment, Cas stands up and then helps Dean off the bed as well. They head to the bathroom and talk of the upcoming wedding drowns out the silence of an unspoken would-be conversation.

 

*

 

The drive to upstate New York is long as ever, but it passes in affable conversation with great music as the soundtrack. Dean and Cas go back and forth between who picks the tunes, and yet again Dean finds that he likes Cas’ weird indie music. Dean sings loud to all his old school rock, and catches Cas singing under his breath every now and then. Cas is wearing a black sweater with an obnoxious scarlet apple on it, with neon orange trim along the sleeves and collar. A year ago, he probably would have set it on fire while Cas slept, but now it’s endearing in a hideous eyesore way.

 

They stop briefly at a pit stop two thirds of the way there, and Cas surprises Dean by crawling into his lap and kissing him fiercely, out of the blue. It’s awkward and uncomfortable in the driver’s seat, but Dean’s sure as hell not complaining, especially when Cas’ nimble fingers find the buttons of his jeans. Dean rather ungracefully pulls them both into the back seat and Cas sucks him off like a pro, despite the weird angle and the fact that they’re in a parking lot. In all fairness, the lot is fairly empty because it’s the middle of the day on a Friday, but it still feels exposed and subsequently adrenaline-pumping. It’s fast and dirty and raw and Cas swallows it all down with a quiet, low moan and a blissed out expression that looks absolutely wanton.

 

Dean’s hands make for Cas’ bulging jeans, but Cas shakes his head.

 

“We’re already running late,” he pants, resting his head briefly on Dean’s stomach as he regains his breath. “Tonight we can continue.”

 

“Dude, you’re hard as concrete,” Dean protests, but his angel looks up at him and frowns.

 

“I’ll survive. I shouldn’t have delayed us in the first place, but the urge was overwhelming.”

 

Dean raises an eyebrow in question; Cas shrugs.

 

“We didn’t have sex last night,” he explains, sitting up and wiping his mouth in a downright dirty way that sends shivers dancing across Dean’s skin.

 

The rest of the car ride is mostly silent, but it’s a comfortable silence that Dean enjoys. Cas has his seat tilted back and for a while his head rests against the headrest, his mouth open slightly and his eyes squeezed shut. Composing himself, Dean realizes. Dean’s mouth waters a little in anticipation of returning the favor.

 

By the time they arrive at Sarah’s father’s mansion, Cas has successfully killed his boner and actually fallen asleep. Dean cuts the engine and looks at him fondly, momentarily unwilling to wake him. The angel’s mouth is still open just the slightest bit and his head is tilted forward. His neck is probably going to hurt like a son of a bitch when he wakes up, but for right now he looks too peaceful to rouse just yet.

 

A loud rapping on the passenger’s window, however, makes it so Dean doesn’t have to wake him at all. Cas starts visibly and his mouth snaps shut. Outside the window, Sarah is there, grinning wide. Her hair is in loose twin braids and she’s wearing a big gray sweater that may or may not belong to Sam. She waves excitedly and motions for Cas to roll down his window, which he does, still blinking sleepily.

 

“You’re here!” Sarah says enthusiastically. “I was beginning to think you guys decided to come tomorrow.” Dean glances quickly at the car clock, which tells that it’s nearly 4pm. Considering they’d initially intended to arrive before eleven, Dean understands her concerns.

 

Cas looks sheepish and Dean can tell that returning Sarah’s smile is an effort. He’s not big on being late, and right now he kind of looks like he wants the car seat to swallow him up. Dean leans forward and shoots Sarah an easy, apologetic smile.

 

“Sorry, Sarah. Emergency hunt last night, couldn’t pass it up. We got in late and overslept.” Dean figures it’s not exactly a lie – every hunt is technically an emergency, right?

 

“My apologies,” Cas agrees solemnly. Sarah raises an eyebrow at him before laughing. She’s got a great laugh; Dean couldn’t be happier with the girl Sam picked to spend the rest of his life with.

 

“You look like you just swallowed a can of sardines or something,” she tells him, smiling sympathetically. Cas squirms a little and won’t meet her eyes.

 

“We had things we needed to accomplish for the wedding today,” he says, almost mumbling. Sarah leans down so that she’s eye level with Cas.

 

“Hey. Cas, buddy. It’s fine, alright? I got all the boring stuff out of the way – you guys lucked out with that. The tables are set up according to the floor plan we figured out on Skype a couple weeks ago –”

 

“ – you guys use Skype?” Dean interjects, incredulous. Both Cas and Sarah ignore him.

 

“– And the main stuff that we already planned, like table cloths and seating charts and all the other drudgery. We didn’t really need you guys for all that. You’re just in time for the fun stuff, though. Like the lighting. I don’t trust anyone’s insight with candles better than yours.”

 

Cas seems to perk up at Sarah’s reassurances, finally looking at her. His smile, while small as ever, doesn’t look forced anymore. There’s something dancing in his eyes, too, and Dean knows this look. It’s the same expression Cas gets when he checks out the calendar and sees that a new holiday is approaching. It’s usually followed by the sound of car keys jingling and Cas beckoning Dean to join him on a trip to the holiday store. Cas is clearly in his element here.

 

No sooner have they exited the vehicle than Cas and Sarah dive deep into some girly conversation about flower arrangements, and Dean’s manhood feels gravely wounded. Cas seems to have no such concerns; Dean’s theory about actually being in a heterosexual relationship is seeming more and more plausible.

 

By way of tuning the two of them out, Dean observes the house they’re entering as they walk up the long driveway to the front entrance. He’s never been to Sarah Blake’s father’s house, only to his art gallery so many years ago. Dean’s not sure what he was expecting, only that he’s caught off guard by how big it is. It’s certainly a mansion by all respects, with large windows all along the front indicating countless rooms within. It’s not sleek and modern like Dean would have expected of an art dealer; rather it has a sort of vintage, albeit still incredibly expensive, quality to it. Dean half expects it to be haunted, but he figures Sam’s probably checked the place already.

 

“Where’s Sammy?” he inquires as soon as they’re inside, eager to skip out of the massive chick moment his boyfriend and soon to be sister-in-law are sharing.

 

“Probably in the rec room playing Madden,” Sarah replies. “He’s practically been attached to the couch there.”

 

Dean snorts.

 

“Figures he’d be holed away playing video games. Mind if I go hunt him down and remind him he’s not actually a football star?”

 

Sarah chuckles. “Please do; someone certainly needs to. Follow that hall all the way back and take the door on the left. It’ll bring you downstairs, where the rec room is.” She gestures towards a hallway that veers off from the direction where she and Cas are headed.

 

Dean says thanks and bids them a brief goodbye before following her directions and heading down the hallway. There are art pieces along the walls that are tasteful and clearly expensive. Dean hadn’t thought about it until now, but it occurs to him that Sam’s going to probably going to have a damn big wedding. He hasn’t seen Sarah’s father in several years, and back then he they didn’t get off on the best start. Dean thinks it’s pretty great that the guy is willing to let all that go in favor of supporting is daughter in who she chooses to spend the rest of her life with.

 

“Well if it isn’t Michael Vick,” Dean says with a grin as he enters the room, finding Sam sitting on the floor with a game controller in his hand, leaned forward as though his team will play better if his whole body is into it. Sam glances up briefly, sees who it is, and pauses the game before he gives Dean a fake bitch face and scrambles to his feet.

 

“I live in New York, Dean,” he says, walking over and giving Dean a hug in greeting. “Eli Manning, if you must.”

Dean groans. “You and your goddamn Giants.”

 

Sam snorts.

 

“This is an  _Eagles_ fan scoffing?”

 

“Hey, we’re doing well this year!” Dean persists, and Sam gives him a look and a raised eyebrow that says  _Really?_  Dean figures now is the time to stop while he’s ahead, so he changes subjects.

 

“So, my little Sammy’s all grown up and getting married,” he says, giving Sam a once-over like he expects the man to have grown some since he last saw him. Which, really, what a horrible prospect; if Sam got any taller, he’d have trouble making it through doors. Sam’s returning smile is an unexpectedly shy, nervous one, and he runs a hand through his hair without saying anything for a moment. Dean’s expression is smug and he crosses his arms, too much of an older brother to say anything to throw Sam a bone.

 

“Yeah,” Sam finally responds, “it’s kind of surreal.”

 

Dean takes a seat on the rec room’s couch, which is insanely plush and comfortable. He has no idea why his brother would opt for the floor over this little pile of heaven. It’s certainly not out of inability to see the TV; it’s massive, about Sam’s height and takes up a decent chunk of the wall. Man, Sarah is  _loaded_. After a moment, Sam joins Dean on the couch.

 

“You scared, dude?” Dean asks, giving Sam a playful punch on the arm, smirk never leaving his lips.

 

Sam rolls his eyes and his smile broadens.

 

“Hell yeah I’m scared, Dean. This is about to be the most important day of my life. I’d be crazy not to be.”

 

Dean bites his tongue, because the small, stupid part of him that is still wildly jealous that Sam has gone off and left him wants to correct his brother. He wants to mention the day when they killed Azazel or when they, y’know,  _stopped the friggin apocalypse_ , but he doesn’t. Because this is not about him. Because Dean is not _that person_ anymore.

 

“You’ll be scared on your wedding day, too,” Sam adds, raising his eyebrows knowingly. Dean’s jaw drops for a moment and he stares before he composes himself and lets out a choked laugh.

 

“Sammy, Sammy. This is  _me_ you’re talking to. I don’t do alters and rings.” His tone is easy and cavalier, like he’s correcting a misspoken word or something.

 

Sam shrugs in response. “You also don’t do long term relationships, and you’ve been with Cas for almost a year now.”

 

The knowing smile on Sam’s lips is coming dangerously close to souring Dean’s mood, for reasons unknown to him. Even he knows that that would be dumb, though, so he decides to redirect the conversation.

 

“Uh… speaking of! Apparently I’m dating a  _girl_. They’re outside discussing flowers and lightning, Sam. Flowers. And lighting.”

 

Sam laughs, sitting back and relaxing into the chair, all the tension draining from his shoulders. He’s more nervous about the wedding thing than he’s willing to let on, Dean realizes.

 

“You really need to get off your preoccupation with gender roles, Dean.”

 

Dean stares blankly.

 

“That is literally the exact same thing Cas said. Are you all, like, conspiring against me behind my back? You’re all out to get my manhood.”

 

“Nah, we all just share a mutual desire to make you less of a dick,” Sam says, though his tone is fond.

 

“Very funny. I happen to know I’m adorable – and isn’t that really what counts? Oh, by the way, dude, what are we doing for your bachelor party tomorrow? We didn’t plan anything ahead of time, so I guess we can’t do anything  _too_  crazy, but I can definitely make sure there’s booze and strippers, no problem.”

 

It’s Sam’s turn to stare blankly, before slowly shaking his head.

 

“I… no. I don’t want any strippers, Dean.” Dean rolls his eyes and groans dramatically.

 

“Of  _course_  you don’t. C’mon, Sammy, live a little! Tomorrow’s your last night as a free man. You’re actually allowed to do this. It’s encouraged, even. Healthy. The natural order of things.”

 

Sam squirms, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

 

“Look, Dean, I… I’d feel like I was being unfaithful to Sarah. I don’t need a bachelor party.”

 

Dean’s jaw drops and he starts to speak when someone else’s voice cuts him off.

 

“Yes you do, Sam,” Cas says, and Dean’s surprised to find him hovering in the doorway. Sam’s eyes look panicked, but when Cas walks into the room it’s clear that Sarah is not with him and Sam relaxes – slightly.

 

“Excuse me?” Sam asks Cas, looking shocked and a little betrayed.

 

“It is imperative that you have a bachelor party; it’s tradition.” Dean actually fist pumps at this, because  _finally_ Cas being a stickler for the rules is paying off.

 

“What he said,” Dean adds, as though his agreement isn’t already obvious enough.

 

Sam looks back and forth between Cas and Dean like they’re police officers arresting him or something.

 

“I’m sorry to burst your bubbles, but I don’t want any strippers,” Sam says snippily. Cas’ expression is immediately confused, brow furrowed as he looks from Sam to Dean. In this moment, Dean realizes that he’s lost his ally – and, by extension, the argument.

 

“I would never insist that you get strippers, Sam,” Cas says seriously, earnestly, and Sam looks so relieved that Dean feels like  _pouting_. Between his brother and his boyfriend, there is literally no room for fun.

 

“Well, I’m up for any other ideas,” Sam says, “but personally, I’ve got nothing.”

 

Cas smiles that small, hesitant smile of his.

 

“I thought you might say that,” he replies. “So I’ve been researching unconventional bachelor party ideas. How available do you think your groomsmen can be on short notice?”

 

Sam smiles.

 

“They’ll make it.”

 

 

*

 

It turns out the following day that six out of Sam’s seven other groomsmen were able to make it a day early for the impromptu bachelor party, barring the one who is flying out from northern California for the event. Apparently Sam was able to track down his old best friend from Stanford on Facebook or something, and the two had reconnected as easily as though no time had passed. His flight is scheduled to come in late Saturday evening, though, and the bachelor party Cas comes up with is, surprisingly enough, a daytime event.

 

The name of the game is paintball, and Dean’s actually pretty impressed with the idea. He’s also friggin excited for it. Something about the idea of firing a gun without any intent to actually destroy something or someone feels  _good_  and  _healthy_ in a way Dean never expected. It’s interesting to see how civilians deal with the weird desire to shoot things at each other, and Dean thinks it’s fitting for Sam’s wedding. It only takes the process of gearing up for the event for Dean to forget about his strippers idea completely.

 

The game is divided up into teams, and Dean’s delighted to find that he’s on the opposite team as his brother. He wants to beat Sam at his own bachelor party, because that’s what big brothers  _do_. He’s also on the opposite team as Cas, which Dean thinks is a plus. He’s spent so much of his life fighting serious things beside these two that it just amplifies the fun of the game to switch things up. Sam’s group of groomsmen is too small for a full game on their own, so another, much larger bachelor party is added to the fray. Dean is immediately looked to as a leader, which inflates his ego nicely.

 

In the end, Dean’s team loses – but Dean is the one to take out both his brother and his boyfriend, so Dean is satisfied. He’s sweating profusely and exhausted by the end of it, and it feels amazing. He was actually even taken out by the opposite team, and it felt  _good_. The idea of being shot without any deadly consequences is exhilarating and makes Dean feel light inside and out. The game was long, as far as paintball gunning goes, even though it felt quite brief. Dean hopes that this is a thing he, Sam and Cas do on a regular basis. It’s a similar kind of rush as hunting but it’s not sinister or dark in any way. Dean thinks this experience might hold some deeper meaning or something, but, as usual, he’s not willing to delve into it.

 

The ride back to Sarah’s stinks up the car, which Cas comments on in that monotone way of his. They’re all exhausted and for some reason this makes Sam and Dean crack up with shoulder-shaking laughs and everything about the moment is wonderful.

 

And, like so many other things, he has Cas to thank for it.

 

*

 

Dean and Cas takes a long bath together when they get back, though they’re too tired for any heavy handling. The bathtub in the guest bathroom is, as to be expected, huge, nearly Jacuzzi sized and perfect for soaking in. Dean lays pressed with his back against Cas’ chest for what seems like forever, just silently soaking in the long and peaceful moment. Eventually Dean turns over and they kiss warmly and lazily, just exploring each other’s mouths for the sheer pleasure of being close.

 

They stay there until the formerly scolding water chills entirely and their toes and fingers are as pruny as old men and it occurs to Dean that, holy  _shit,_  he might actually live to be an old man and he might just do it with someone else. It’s not an idea he ever entertained for a moment before; he always just assumed he’d end bloody and alone. But here and now, he realizes that it’s a choice. The knowledge at once scares him and warms him. He can’t help but think, though, in this quiet moment as they towel off after emerging from the bath, that nothing is quite that scary when he has Cas.

 

*

 

Sarah needs Cas’ input on the uncomfortably numerous amount of things that need finishing the night before the wedding, so Dean makes the three hour trip back to Media to pick up Lyric alone. He finds himself listening to Cas’ quiet indie crap, some band called Cute Death Taxi or…  _something_  dumb that initially put Dean off of it just because the name of the band was so lame. But Cas plays it before bed sometimes, quietly in the background when he’s feeling too restless to sleep, and it’s gentle and nice in a way that Dean’s classic rock often isn’t.

 

The sun is setting when he arrives at Lyric’s place. Jayne invites him in and he figures he can spare a couple minutes, so he does. If he’s willing to admit, he’s pretty curious about what Lyric’s life outside his and Cas’ flat is like. Their house is small, but still much bigger and nicer than Dean and Cas’ by comparison. Lyric’s waiting with her jacket on already when Dean finds her plopped in front of the TV watching Lilo and Stitch, and she bounces up excitedly when she lays her eyes on Cas.

 

_“I have been waiting!”_  she cries enthusiastically. Jayne presses a palm to her face sheepishly.

 

“I told her when you’d be getting here, but she insisted on having her shoes and jacket on almost an hour ago. She’s very stubborn when she wants to be.”

 

Dean smiles because, yeah, he can definitely vouch for that one.

 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, kiddo,” he says, ruffling her pig-tailed hair.

 

“It’s okay! We’re gonna have fun! It’s a sleepover! Can we have a pillow fight? Can we have hot chocolate? Can we watch Lilo and Stitch? Cas  _loves_ Lilo and Stitch, he  _told_ me. I’m gonna have a dress! Mommy showed me! Sarah said I’m gonna have a  _very important_ part in her wedding.”

 

Jayne rolls her eyes.

 

“She’s been going on about this for a week.”

 

“We’re really glad to have her,” Dean says, open and honestly. His fond eyes never leave Lyric, who’s hopping up and down. “Thanks for letting us borrow her.”

 

Jayne fixes him with a warm smile.

 

“As I said, I know she’ll be in great hands.”

 

“Ready to go, sport?” he asks Lyric, who pretty much screeches in response. Both adults wince at the high-pitched, albeit endearing, noise.

 

“I’ve packed a portable DVD player and three movies for the car ride, her teddy bear, her favorite blanket because she gets whiny if she has to sleep without it and a disposal camera because… well, I’m too impatient to wait for the professional pictures.”

 

“Check, check and check. Sounds like she’s more than prepared.”

 

_“So prepared!”_  Lyric chirps.

 

“Well, I guess we’re off,” Dean says, beckoning Lyric toward the door. She makes a sudden rush at her mother and squeezes her tight.

 

“Be good for Dean and Cas, okay?” she tells her. Lyric nods vigorously.

 

“I will ‘cause I love them!” Lyric responds enthusiastically, and  _wow_  if that didn’t strike a chord deep inside Dean.

 

Once mother and daughter have exchanged goodbyes, they leave the house and Dean buckles Lyric into the back seat of the Impala, set up with her DVD player to watch the end of Lilo and Stitch. In contrast to her previous abounding energy, the dark of the car seems to calm her, and she falls quiet as she watches the movie intently. About 20 minutes into the ride, they have to exit the highway and seek out a McDonald’s because Dean didn’t think to ask her if she had to go to the bathroom before they left. Dean chides himself because that’s practically Parenting 101… and then he realizes what he’s just thought, and he feels weird. He shakes it off when Lyric emerges happily, though. The sight of her seems to put everything in perspective, whatever ‘everything’ is.

 

Halfway through the ride, Dean glances in his rearview mirror and finds Lyric asleep, head nestled against her seatbelt. The glow of the second movie playing on the DVD player’s screen lights up her tiny features just the slightest bit. She looks completely at peace, and Dean feels exactly the same way.

 

*

 

Once they arrive, Lyric perks up pretty quickly. She’s awed by the size of the house and chattering about haunted princess castles and how she’s a superhero that’s going to save everyone, and Dean thinks she reminds him a little of himself. She skips up to the front entrance and knocks at the door enthusiastically. Cas is the one who answers, and he looks, for lack of a better word, adorable. He’s got flour in his hair and he’s wearing an apron covered with leaves for autumn. Dean kisses him when he reaches the doorway, tasting powdered sugar faintly.

  
“Are you seriously the one who made the cake?” Dean asks incredulously. Cas nods, and Lyric’s eyes go wide as saucers.

 

“Way too cool! Way too cool!” she says excitedly.

 

“Looks like we’re both impressed,” Dean says with a grin. Cas looks quietly pleased, wearing a small smile, the very faintest hint of blush coloring his cheeks.

 

“I suppose the true measure will be in how it tastes,” he replies.

 

“It’ll taste awesome!” Lyric says excitedly. She pushes past Cas and looks around the small foyer, features alight with pleasure at the beautiful home. Dean catches her yawning, though, and he exchanges a look with Cas, who seems to have noticed as well.

 

“How bout we head to our room?” Dean suggests. Lyric frowns.

 

“Can I have hot chocolate first, please?” she asks in her sweetest voice, and it’s not exactly something Dean is capable of refusing. Cas smiles at her.

 

“Yes, you may, because you asked so politely,” he tells her, and she positively beams.

 

The kitchen is, like everything else here, huge. Dean sort of thinks it’s all a bit ridiculous for such a small family, but he figures he’d probably go big if he was an art dealer, too. Cas insists that Dean go all out with his homemade hot chocolate, which is one of the only things he rivals Cas in preparing. It involves cocoa, vanilla, sugar and milk in a saucepan at just the right temperature, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. He serves them each a mug and they decide to bring them up to the room at the sight of Lyric’s eyelids drooping.

 

Once everyone’s in pajamas, Lilo and Stitch is put on, as promised. The bed in the guest bedroom is conveniently a trundle one, with a smaller mattress that pulls out from underneath. Lyric snuggles under it in several blankets and is out like a light before the first scene is even over. Dean and Cas watch her fondly from their bed for a moment before Cas reaches over and takes the DVD player and turns it off. He hesitates a moment before pressing a soft kiss to her head. Dean watches the movement closely and thinks he could maybe get used to this.

 

As Dean lays in the darkness beside Cas, it finally hits him that his  _little brother,_ the kid he essentially raised is getting  _married_  tomorrow. He’s starting a new chapter of his life, something permanent and uncharted and incredible and it scares Dean. He knows that not much will change in regards to his relationship with his brother, but it still feels like it will. With marriage comes the prospect of children, of nieces or nephews for Dean and Cas. It’s a weird thought. Still, there’s no girl Dean would rather Sam spend the rest of his life with.

 

He falls asleep just as the butterflies in his stomach are starting to get the best of him. Cas’ quiet breathing beside him indicates that he’s already falling asleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day, and Dean’s grateful when he feels the reigns of sleep finally, finally tugging at him.

 

It’s several hours later when something wakes him. His eyes flicker open quickly and his body is on instant alert, but it eases when he realizes the source of his inexplicable waking. Lyric has joined them on their bed, snuggling in between Dean and Cas. She gives a quiet little sigh before burying her face in Dean’s back.

 

Dean stares wide-eyed into the darkness for a long, long time before he finally falls back asleep.

 

*

 

When Dean wakes up the following morning, Lyric is jumping on the bed and giggling loudly. A quick glance around shows that Cas is already gone, which he expected. There are last minute details to be had and he’s not usually one to wake Dean before he’s ready. Dean feels somewhat guilty over his low level of participation in the coordinating of everything, but he has the distinct feeling that his help would probably not have been of much use.

 

He gets Lyric dressed and they shuffle downstairs to get breakfast. There is, thankfully, a box of Lucky Charms that Dean thinks probably has something to do with Cas, which he’s grateful for. Lyric hums something as she eats, and Dean thinks it might actually be “Back in Black” by AC/DC. He grins and hums along as they both sleepily enjoy each other’s company. Lyric requests a sip of his coffee, which he obliges once it’s cool enough, just for the pleasure of watching her face wrinkle up in disgust. As penance, he’s forced to make more hot chocolate, which makes their breakfast that much more unhealthy. Cas wanders in as Dean’s washing the dishes and Lyric is still sitting at the kitchen table, now singing her ABC’s to herself under her breath.

 

“Good morning, Dean. Good morning, Lyric,” Cas says in greeting. Lyric’s eyes light up when she sees Cas, and rushes at him in a hug.

 

“Morning Cassy-ell! Dean gave me Lucky Charms and hot chocolate!”

 

Cas raises an eyebrow in Dean’s direction.

 

“Did he, now?” Cas asks. “I suppose the effect of sugar on small children didn’t occur to him.” Dean turns off the faucet and towels off his hands, grinning sheepishly.

 

“I  _love_  sugar!” Lyric squeals.

 

“You and me both, kid,” Dean says, shrugging in Cas’ direction in a  _what-can-you-do?_ gesture.

 

“The wedding is at one,” Cas tells Dean, “which I’m telling you because I assume you haven’t read the invitation.”

 

“Guilty,” Dean replies unashamedly. He crosses the room and gives Cas a kiss, smiling brightly into it. “Mornin’, Sunshine.”

 

Cas smiles back and says “Hello, Dean,” as though he hasn’t greeted him already. They stare at each other silently for a long moment before they remember the room has another occupant. Dean clears his throat.

 

“So what’s the agenda?” Dean asks. It’s just past 11am; there are a few hours before the wedding.

 

“Well… everything is set up. Our diligence the past two days has made it so the bulk of the work has been accomplished. We can relax.”

 

“Sweet,” Dean says. Normally, this would be followed by suggestive banter and a trip back up to their bedroom to  _make use_ of the time… but Lyric is there, staring at them curiously, and Dean heaves a weighted sigh.

 

“I understand if you’d like to spend some time with your brother before the big day,” Cas says, seemingly misinterpreting Dean’s sigh. “I thought, perhaps, I could take Lyric to a playground and you and Sam could ‘hang out’.” Cas sounds awkward when he says the last bit, showing yet again that he’s still relatively new to the whole human thing. He rarely uses expressions with no literal meaning, because he doesn’t see the point of them. It’s always hilarious when he tries, though.

 

It hadn’t occurred to Dean before that, yeah, these are his last few hours with his little brother before the guy goes off and gets married, and he should probably utilize them. He appreciates that Cas thought of it, and he gives the guy another kiss. A quick glance at Lyric shows that her face is wrinkled up like it was when she tasted the coffee. He forgot that little kids are grossed out when grown-ups kiss.

 

“Thanks, angel,” he says, ruffling Cas’ hair fondly.

 

“No problem, Dean.”

 

*

 

After a lengthy search, Dean finds Sam in the backyard, sitting on a bench by a small koi pond. His hands are laced together and he’s leaned forward. He’s got his pensive shoulders thing going on, and he’s looking so hard into the pond that Dean thinks the guy’s close to shooting lasers at it. Dean walks up unnoticed, and Sam starts visibly when Dean speaks.

 

“What’d the fish ever do to you, Sammy?” Dean asks good-naturedly as he takes a seat beside Sam. Sam laughs awkwardly, giving his brother a genuine smile.

 

“Hey Dean,” he says, rolling his shoulders as though he’s been made aware of how tense he looks.

 

“Nerves getting to you?”

 

Sam nods slightly, lacing and unlacing his fingers distractedly.

 

“It’s just… big, y’know?”

 

“Yeah. I know.”

 

They both stare into the pond silently for a while, absorbed in their own thoughts. There is a part of Dean that wants to beg Sam not to forget about him or something equally  _absurd,_ but he swallows the impulse. This is Sam’s day, not Dean’s.

 

“Nothing is going to change between us,” Sam says after a while, as though some of his old psychic mojo is still around and he’s reading Dean’s thoughts. Dean sighs just the slightest bit, because he’s pretty sure  _everyone_  thinks that nothing will change when they get married.

 

When Dean doesn’t say anything, Sam goes on.

 

“I’m  _serious_ , Dean. You’re my brother and there’s no one in this world more important than you. Nothing can change that.”

 

“Not even a wife, a dog and 2.5 kids?” Dean asks, and is surprised by how bitter he sounds, even to his own ears.

 

Sam shakes his head emphatically, sending his long hair flying.

 

_“Nothing,”_  he reiterates firmly, meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean looks away, at the koi pond, into the distance, anywhere but at Sam. Finally he sighs, conceding defeat, and meets Sam’s fervent stare. His brow is knit with concern and his face is featuring its trademark puppy dog look. Dean can’t help but smile. He’s always been a sucker for the puppy dog eyes.

 

“I trust you,” he says at last, resigned. The worry seems to melt from Sam’s face and Dean sort of feels like a dick for putting it there in the first place. This is Sam’s big day, after all, and Dean should be keeping his insecurities to himself.

 

Sam unexpectedly pulls Dean in for a big brotherly embrace, catching Dean off guard. He blinks rapidly for a moment before gruffly hugging back.

 

“Alright, alright, let’s not make this a chickflick moment,” Dean says, breaking the hug before it gets weird. Sam’s smiling when he pulls away.

 

“If you say so,” he says playfully. “I know how badly you’re allergic to them.”

 

“Damn straight,” he says. “I’m happy for you, dude. Seriously. Sarah’s a great girl. Couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

 

Sam laughs.

 

“You actually kind of did, dude. Remember, all those years ago? You told me, ‘marry that girl’. I finally took your advice.”

 

Dean smirks.

 

“Obviously I have good taste.”

 

“That you do,” Sam says fondly. “You picked your angel pretty well, too, if I do say so myself.”

 

Dean shrugs.

 

“Nah, he chose me,” he says automatically. Sam raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. Dean’s hand finds the handprint mark on his shoulder, where Cas laid claim on him in hell. He can’t articulate the weight of that action, and he’s not even sure that it’d be appropriate to try. All he knows is that truer words were never spoken; Cas chose him and claimed him and waited for Dean to figure it out. Dean only regrets having taken so long to see it.

 

Dean’s phone belts out some AC/DC and finds that it’s his alarm, declaring it noon and time to go get ready for the ceremony.

 

“Time to shower and suit up,” he tells Sam, who starts to look slightly nervous all over again. Dean rolls his eyes.

 

“Dude. You faced down Lucifer and jumped into  _hell_. You can handle a wedding.”

 

Sam takes a deep breath and nods.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know I am. I’m the oldest, I’m always right.”

 

Sam playfully shoves his brother.

 

“I can’t ever compliment you without it going to your head. C’mon, let’s go. We’ve got an hour until the main event.”

 

*

 

By 12:30, both babysitters and their charge are ready to go in their respective tuxedos and dress. Lyric has taken to spinning around, delightedly watching her dress spin out around her. It’s a beautiful, flowy thing from the same bridal collection as Sarah’s Disney princess inspired wedding gown, and it makes Lyric look somewhat like an angel. Not the actual asshole ones, of course – more like the sort most civilians expect. It’s Cinderella inspired, apparently, though Dean doesn’t really see the relevance (not that he knows anything about Cinderella, duh. He’s too manly for that). The top half of it is embroidered with lace and crystal beaded flowers, and the bottom flairs out around her in elegant loose ruffles. She’s absolutely lovely, and Dean’s heart surges with pride.

 

Cas looks as hot now as he did in the mall, and Dean has to fight to keep his thoughts pure; now’s not the time or place, of course. He’d like nothing better than to jump Cas in his tailored, form-accentuating suit and tug him in by his red tie, but there’s a little girl in their care and a wedding in a half hour. Judging by the heated look in Cas’ eyes, he’s in about the same place mentally. Dean’s itching to go home and ravage his boyfriend. He has the feeling the buildup of sexual tension is going to end up with some really, really intense sex. Not that it isn’t always intense.

 

The wedding party congregates in the foyer, save for Sarah, who’s following the tradition of remaining unseen by her future husband until the moment she walks down the aisle. There wasn’t an official rehearsal at any point, so they’re instructed briefly on what order they’ll be going in and who walks down with whom. Dean and Cas are second to last of the wedding party and walk down together. Dean snickers at the fact that Cas will be walking on the side of the aisle as the rest of the bridesmaids, but Cas is unperturbed. Lyric and a little boy who Dean assumes is probably related to Sarah will come after Dean and Cas, tossing the flower petals and bearing the ring, respectively.

 

The wedding takes place outside in a large garden in the backyard. It’s surrounded on all sides by tall hedges and closed with a wooden gate of equal size. The hedges have red flowers sporadically throughout them. Dean wonders if they’re naturally part of the hedges or if they were a touch Sarah and Cas came up with; he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. The wedding party lines up outside the gate once all the guests are seated, and Dean itches to glance inside. While Cas has been actively involved in setting up the altar, aisles and seating, Dean has yet to see any of it.

 

The color scheme is an elegant blend of black, white and red. Like Dean and Cas, all of the groomsmen have tuxedos with red ties and matching red handkerchiefs tucked into the front pockets. The bridesmaids are all wearing short, sleeveless red dresses that are elegantly bunched at the bottom and have a thin black sash at the waist. They each carry small bouquets that are predominantly white flowers, with small red ones peeking through all throughout. Seeing everyone lined up like this really puts all of Cas and Sarah’s planning into perspective. It clearly took incredibly planning to put this all together, and Dean’s already impressed by how it’s turning out.

 

All too soon, the wedding processional music starts and Dean is brought back to reality. He can clearly picture his brother entering the garden from a side entrance, doubtless looking terrified. The idea makes him smile. Dean hasn’t had a chance to see Bobby yet, but he knows he’s sitting front and center in the place where the groom’s father is supposed to sit. Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

The group moves forward and Dean holds his breath because  _this is happening_. He never understood why people cry at weddings before, but he thinks he might sort of get it now. He doesn’t have words for what he’s feeling as each member of the wedding party takes a step forward, but he knows that it’s  _big_. Cas reaches out and gives Dean’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and Dean’s grateful for it.

 

Dean glances at Lyric, who’s standing behind him beside the little ring-bearer. In contrast to her usual peppy self, she looks shy and nervous. It’s a foreign expression on her, and Dean finds it at once adorable and slightly concerning. He turns around and kneels down, careful not to get the pants of his tuxedo dirty.

 

“You okay, kid?” he whispers. Lyric takes a deep breath and nods.

 

“Think so,” she whispers. She looks a little pale, which doesn’t sit right with Dean, but he and Cas are next and he doesn’t have time to investigate further. He presses a quick kiss to Lyric’s forehead.

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be great,” he tells her, and she gives him a tiny smile.

 

“Okay, Dean.”

 

“That’s my girl.”

 

Then it’s Dean and Cas’ turn to walk, slow and dramatic, down the aisle. The wedding’s not huge or anything, but it’s definitely more people than Dean was expecting. He makes out the faces of a couple hunters in the crowd, which surprises him. Most hunters don’t take kindly to anyone getting out of the life and being  _happy_ – comes with the standard bitterness most hunters have – but it seems there are a few that are genuinely pleased to see Sam starting this chapter of his life. Still, the majority of the guests are from Sarah’s side by a landslide. So many foreign eyes fall on Dean and Cas, and Dean tries not to wonder if anyone is judging the fact that two men are walking down the aisle together.

 

Dean meets Sam’s eyes across the garden and Dean grins. Sam, as expected, has big doe eyes and looks nervous as hell, but when he sees Dean smiling, he smiles right back, big and bright. The kid has a killer smile; it’s infectious, and he sees several people in the audience who seem to be smiling now just because Sam is. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see that Cas is smiling too, which isn’t characteristic for him. He’s not one to share his smile with a lot of people, ever, so it’s odd to see him displaying it for an entire wedding full of people.

 

Dean tries not to be too obvious as he looks around, taking in the scenery of the beautiful place Cas and Sarah have designed for the ceremony. The aisle is a long, narrow white carpet with a beautiful black Victorian design on it, and the carpet is framed by red flower petals. The chairs are black and the altar is white; the flow of color is flawless. Dean has no idea how they accomplished this without a professional wedding planner.

 

Once they make it to the end of the aisle, Dean takes his place beside his little brother and Cas stands beside the last bridesmaid to go before them. He looks a little out of place over there beside all the girls, but the colors all match so well that it doesn’t look overly weird. Cas doesn’t look put off by his position at all, which Dean finds admirable. Dean knows he himself probably wouldn’t have been able to endure the bruise to his manliness.

 

Sam looks at Dean with nervous eyes and Dean raises an eyebrow and smirks at him, trying to get him to relax with silent human. It seems to work the slightest bit; Dean notices Sam’s tense shoulders relax just the slightest bit. Dean spots Bobby in the crowd and Bobby nods at them, showing his support. And if Bobby’s eyes look a little watery, Dean makes no indication that he notices.

 

Last in the wedding procession are Lyric and the ring-bearer. The little boy proceeds as directed, but Lyric remains frozen to the spot at the gate of the garden. The usher tries to motion for her to go, but Lyric just looks at him with wide, deer-in-headlights eyes and goes nowhere. Even from across the small garden, Dean is pretty sure he can see tears welling up in the little girl’s eyes, and Dean decides that enough is enough.

 

Dean leaves his place beside Sam at the altar and takes quick strides to where Lyric is. He intended to hold her hand and walk her down, but upon seeing him walking up, she stretches out her arms in a silent request for him to pick her up.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as he bends over and scoops her up. She makes a little noise that sounds suspiciously close to a sniffle and wraps her arms around Dean’s neck.

 

There is a chorus of “aww!”s murmuring through the garden and Dean feels himself go slightly red, but he plays it off well, smirking and rolling his eyes and otherwise making the moment comical. There are laughs, too, as he carries her up the aisle. When Dean reaches the altar, Cas gestures for Dean to pass her over, presumably because she’s supposed to be on that side, anyway. Lyric clings to Cas tightly once she’s transferred over, burying her face in the man’s neck. Dean ruffles her hair softly before returning to his place beside Sam. Sam’s clearly been laughing, and Dean’s grateful – it’s good to see the nerves being replaced by laughter.

 

The guests all fall silent and it takes a second for Dean to see why – when he does, his jaw nearly drops. It’s the bride’s turn to take her walk down the aisle, and Sarah looks  _stunning_ , almost ethereal. A quick glimpse at Sam shows that the groom’s jaw actually  _has_ dropped, and he’s tearing up like the big baby that he is. Dean can’t exactly blame him, though. Sarah’s a sight for sore eyes.

 

Dean couldn’t imagine a more beautiful dress. It’s a one-shoulder ball gown made of an elegant, lustrous silk material. The dress has dramatic ruched pick-ups, and the bodice is draped and embellished with beautiful beaded flowers, metallic embroidery and pearl accents. She looks like a princess straight out of a Disney movie, and she carries herself with all the regality the image would imply. Her hair is pulled back in a loose messy braid that looks at once simple and complicated and suits Sarah well. Her tiara looks like it’s made of some sort of vine that’s set with tiny white flower blossoms. She has a thick bouquet of deep red dahlias (whose name Dean only knows because of Cas’ many conversations about them). Dean’s never seen a more beautiful bride.

 

Sarah bears far more confidence than Sam, though Dean thinks he might detect a little nervousness in her eyes. Her jaw is held high, though, and her eyes are locked on Sam’s. She’s grinning at his doey-eyed reaction, and she seems to catch herself in the middle of a self-conscious laugh. Her dad, who’s walking her down the aisle, squeezes her arm affectionately as they near the end of the aisle. When they finally make it to the alter, he lets her go and takes his seat, and Sarah takes her place opposite Sam.

 

The minister running the ceremony is surprisingly young, and, judging by his tuxedo, not a priest. He’s got bright red hair, too, which gives him a boyish look. Something about that sits well with Dean. He kind of hopes that maybe the guy is a family friend or something, someone who at least knows a little about Sam and Sarah. It’s such an important day that he doesn’t want to share it with strangers. He wants every person here to  _get_  it – to understand the magnitude of the change in his brother’s life.

 

“Welcome, welcome,” the minister says with a genuine smile, and Dean decides right off the bat that he likes him. “I guess we can all agree that Sam here is a lucky guy, huh?” He tosses a wink at Sam and the guests laugh. It doesn’t feel stuffy and pretentious like Dean was afraid it’d be; the guy has a casual way to how he talks that puts Dean at ease.

 

“We’re gathered here today to see two people joined together in mind, body and spirit – to celebrate the amazing love that Sam and Sarah have for each other. Of course, anyone with eyes can see how bad they’ve got it for each other; the wedding’s just to make it ‘official’.” The congregation laughs, and Dean chuckles along because, seriously, truer words were never spoken.

 

“Now, it’s typical with these sorts of things to talk about the meaning of love, and I will – but not for their sake. Because, looking at these two, it’s obvious that they’re already there. But I think for everyone here to truly grasp the beautiful thing that’s happening here, I have to go into it a little. Mark Twain once said, ‘To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with’. It’s a very true statement, and I think that love is at the heart of it. Happiness is best spent when it’s shared.”

 

Dean wonders if he’s the only one who catches Sam swallowing the lump in his throat. Sarah is clutching at her bouquet for dear life, eyes faintly wet.

 

“There’s something very beautiful and very terrifying about the word ‘forever’,” the young minister goes on, “and above all, something very powerful. Marriage is nothing if not a promise of forever. ‘Forever’ is not only a commitment to unfailing love, respect, and enduring friendship, but a declaration to everyone that you have made up your mind, your priorities are set and there is no turning back. ‘Forever’ is the biggest thing you can give to another person.”

 

Cas and Dean both look at each other at the same time and Dean feels his throat go dry. He wants to clear it badly, but he’s fairly certain now isn’t the best time. He glances away, turning his attention back to the bride and groom.

 

“Today, we get to see two people who are terrifically in love pledge ‘forever’ to one another. I, for one, feel honored to be here. Now, enough sentiment – time to get these two lovebirds married!” Dean’s grateful for the opportunity to laugh and shake it off, because his throat feels awkward and parched. The minister turns next addresses Sam and Sarah.

 

“Do you, Sam Winchester, take Sarah Blake to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

 

Sam swallows hard and then smiles bright, eyes fixed on Sarah. He nods.

 

“I do.”

 

“And do you, Sarah Blake, take Sam Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

 

Sarah blinks and two tears slip down her cheeks. She nods vigorously.

 

“I do.”

 

Sam clears his throat and then addresses the audience with a nervous smile.

 

“Our vows, uh – our vows are from a musical, um. One of our first dates was to see Phantom of the Opera on Broadway in New York.”

 

“It was his idea,” Sarah says fondly, “he’s kind of a geek.” More laughter; Dean likes that the wedding isn’t somber and overly formal how he’s always pictured them. Sam takes Sarah’s in his – the size difference between their hands is  _laughable_  – and Sarah begins their vows.

  
“I will love you every waking moment; I need you with me now and always. I promise you that all I say is true,” she says.

 

Sam takes a shaky breath, smiling all the while.

 

“I will share with you one love, one lifetime; I will lead you from your solitude,” Sam says, reciting the words from heart. “I need you with me here, beside me – anywhere you go, let me go too. Sarah, that's all I ask of you.”

 

“I will share with you one love, one lifetime,” Sarah repeats. “Say the word and I will follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning.”

 

They say the next final line in perfect unison:

 

_“Love me, that's all I ask of you.”_

 

As far as cheesy vows go, yeah, Dean has to give them credit. That was pretty damn cute. Dean can feel Cas’ eyes on him, but he studiously looks elsewhere. The ring-bearer scampers over with the rings. The rings, too, are pretty damn cool, though Dean only knows because Cas is like second-in-command on all things related to this wedding. They’re “inner message rings” with slight indents on the inside that will, after a long period of wear, leave the impression of the indentation. The indentations on their rings are each other’s names.

 

Cas puts Lyric down and quickly reaches behind the alter to reveal a white box, which he hands to Sarah. Sarah grins at him and then addresses the audience with the same beaming smile, holding out the box.

 

“Love is like a butterfly,” she tells them excitedly, “it settles upon you –”

 

“– when you least expect it!” Sam concludes, and pulls the cover off the box. Butterflies burst forth in a swirl of red and white and take off into the sky or around the garden. The response from the audience is a chorus of “ooh”s and “ahh”s and laughter, and Sam and Sarah are laughing too, both of them with eyes fixed on each other.

 

“And with that, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the minister says dramatically over everyone’s sounds of approval, and Sarah throws her arms around Sam’s neck and he pulls her close.

 

“You may now kiss the bride,” the minister concludes once the guests quickly settle down.

 

Their kiss is soft and gentle and seems to be shared just by the two of them, even though they have a full garden-sized audience. It’s sort of reminiscent of fairy tales that end with a kiss – not that Dean’s seen any, or anything. Dean’s not sure if it’s wedding etiquette to cheer or what, but he does anyway, and to his relief everyone else does, too. The wedding recessional music starts up and Sam and Sarah lead the wedding party out of the garden, hands, held. Dean and Cas are right behind.

 

Cas is still carrying Lyric by the time they make it out of the garden, and Dean quickly relieves him of the load, cradling her close. The little girl looks very much the worse for wear, tired and maybe a little sick. Dean presses his palm to Lyric’s forehead and finds it warm.

 

“I think she has a fever,” he tells Cas, who chews his lip uncertainly.

 

“I’ll call her mother. If need be, I’ll drive her back home.”

  
“Aw, Cas, what about the reception? You’ll some of it if you go. It’s two now and the reception starts at, like, four o’clock, and the ride back to Media is three hours each way. Couldn’t we could just… let her nap… in the room?” Dean ends the sentence in a hopeful tone, which he knows is for naught.

 

“Alone? That doesn’t sound acceptable, Dean. I’ll call Jayne and see what she thinks is the best course of action.”

 

Dean frowns but gives his begrudging assent. He rocks back and forth almost imperceptibly with Lyric in his arms as Cas walks off a bit and makes the call. She has her arms wrapped tight around his neck.

 

“You did great, Lyric,” Dean tells her quietly.

 

“I did?” she asks him quietly, voice tiny and unsure.

 

“Hell yeah! I mean, uh, heck yeah. And you look beautiful, kiddo. Great job. You’re awesome.”

 

Lyric giggles.

 

“Thanks, Dean.”

 

Cas hangs up the phone and walks back over to where Dean and Lyric are.

 

“Jayne insisted on driving down and picking Lyric up herself. I am not entirely comfortable with having her go out of her way so far to do so, but she wouldn’t allow me to convince her otherwise… She says that Lyric will be alright to rest in the room alone as long as she has a movie and we check on her periodically.”

 

“Sounds good,” Dean says. “Let’s hook this kid up with some mac and cheese and a movie. We’ve got time to watch one with her before the reception starts. The Lion King sound good?”

 

Lyric shakes her head.

 

“Lilo and Stitch!” she says tiredly. Dean is amazed by how fervently children insist on watching the same thing over and over, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he laughs and ruffles her hair.

 

“Lilo and Stitch it is. C’mon, kiddo. Coming, Cas?” Dean asks over his shoulder as he heads back toward the house.

 

“Of course,” Cas replies. To Dean’s surprise, Cas walks over and hooks his arm through Dean’s, drawing him close as they make their way back. Dean’s taken aback for a second, but eventually he ends up reveling in the strange comfort of having a kid in his arms and his angel at his side.

 

*

 

By the time Cas and Dean head down to the reception, the emcee is finishing up his introduction of the wedding party. Dean and Cas rush over to be introduced, albeit out of order, before clearing the dance floor. Only then does Dean take a moment to look around the reception area.

 

 It’s in another section of yard that’s not blocked off by hedges like the garden was. Yet again, Dean’s taken aback by how professional it looks. Two tents are set up with the dance floor between them, and string lights are strung from tent to tent above it. While it’s not quite dark enough yet to experience the full effect of the lighting, it looks beautiful in and of itself. Crystal glass orbs with white candles inside hang from surrounding trees, which are sure to look stunning once the sun sets in an hour or two.

 

The tables are long and rectangular, with white tablecloths, black chairs and red candles of varying shades. None of the candles are lit yet, and Dean finds himself anxious for the sun to go down so he can see the full extent of Cas’ handiwork. It’s like when Cas decorates their flat for holidays… but on a much larger, more profound level.

 

Dean and Cas locate their places at the table and take a seat, and the emcee announces that it’s time for the first dance. Sam and Sarah take the floor, hands held, giving each other gooey, lovey eyes. Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes out of pure brotherly conviction.

 

Everyone goes silent as the soft music starts to play, Dean and Cas included. The two newlyweds might as well be on another planet, alone together; their eyes are glued to each other. The song is “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Ingrid Michaelson, which Dean only knows because he’s dating the wedding planner.  In the quiet of the moment, it’s easy to zero in on the words of the song.

 

_Wise men say only fools rush in / But I can't help falling in love with you_

 

Dean glances at Cas and finds him, as he does so often, already looking at him. Cas’ hand is laying idly on the table, and Dean reaches for it, lacing their fingers together. He forgets he’s supposed to be watching his brother do his mushy slow dance.

_Like a river flows surely to the sea / Darling so it goes / Some things are meant to be_

 

Something fierce is thundering in Dean’s chest, and he thinks that they’re having some sort of  _moment_  – and he doesn’t subconsciously run from it. To the contrary, he runs to it, keeping his eyes trained on Cas as his heart beats its own crazy rhythm.

 

_So take my hand, and take my whole life too / ‘Cause I can't help falling in love with you_

 

Dean brings Cas’ hand to his lips and presses a small kiss to the back of the other man’s hand. Cas takes a deep breath and then copies the action, kissing Dean’s hand as well. Dean’s not sure who tightens their grip on the other one’s hand or if they both do it at once, but all he knows is that their fingers are laced as tightly as can be.

 

_Cause I can't help falling in love, falling in love / I keep falling in love with you_

 

The song ends and Dean gently puts a hand on Cas’ face and kisses him, chaste but insistent because his heart’s trying to talk with words he doesn’t have. Cas’ hand finds the back of Dean’s neck and he kisses back, and Dean thinks he can feel the same things radiating from Cas as are surely resounding from his own heart. When at last their lips break, they barely move, faces only inches apart. Green eyes stare down blue and Dean wishes he knew what the hell he wanted to say.

 

Someone clears her throat loudly, and Dean realizes it’s one of the bridesmaids.

 

“You’re supposed to give a toast,” she all but hisses. “You’re the best man!”

 

“Oh,” Dean says dumbly, looking around and finding that someone has come around and filled everyone’s glasses with champagne. He laughs sheepishly and stands up.

 

“Attention, ladies and gents!” he says, tapping on his glass loudly with a fork. The bridesmaid winces visibly and Dean wonders if this is something that only happens in movies or something. When this fails to get everyone’s attention, Dean puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles, loud, and finally everyone falls silent. If the look on the bridesmaid’s face is any indication, that wasn’t the proper course of action, either, but Dean doesn’t care. It effectively got all eyes on Dean, so Dean considers it a win.

 

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Dean Winchester, Sam’s older brother. I want you all to know that I seriously considered coming up here and embarrassing the hell out of Sammy, but Cas here convinced me not to. So you have him to thank for Sam’s dignity.”

 

People laugh good-naturedly; Sam calls, “Thanks Cas!” and Sarah boos from where they’re sitting.

 

“I’m gonna keep this short and sweet because if you guys are as hungry as I am, you can’t wait until this part is over so you can eat.” Again, more laughter, and Dean silently praises the guests for being an easy crowd.

 

“So I think I’m gonna tell you guys the story of how these lovebirds met – because I was there, and let me tell you, if you think my brother is awkward now, you should have seen him at 24.” Dean tells the story – well, the civilian-friendly version – of how he and Sam happened into town and ran into Sarah so many years ago. He boasts about setting them up on their first date, and delightedly tells everyone that, even years ago, he told Sam to marry Sarah. Dean had actually forgotten that detail until Sam mentioned it Friday, but Dean’s happy to take credit for it now.

 

He then tells the guests about how they left and didn’t come back, even though they wanted to. How he could tell how much it killed his brother to leave. Finally, Dean talks about the day Sam told him he found Sarah again, and how happy they looked when Dean saw them together.

 

“I couldn’t pick a better wife for my brother,” Dean concludes, grinning at Sarah. “No one else can keep him in line like me. I’m 100% certain I can count on Sarah to kick his ass whenever necessary. And really, isn’t that the most important thing?” Dean raises his glass. “Ladies and gentleman, to the couple.”

 

Everyone toasts to the bride and groom and Dean takes his seat. Cas immediately kisses him with a smile, catching Dean off guard.

 

“Well done, Dean. I was expecting you to mention sex,” Cas says, sounding genuinely surprised.

 

“I was so close, Cas. So close. But then I pictured your judgy eyebrows and I kept it clean.”

 

“I’m proud of you. You’ll be rewarded for that later.”

 

Dean feels his face go red and he can’t fight the dirty smirk creeping its way onto his face.

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, voice low. The reception suddenly feels like it’s going to be way, way too long.

 

Dinner is served and Cas disappears to go check on Lyric. Sam and Sarah are busy accepting congratulations and greeting well-wishers, so Dean, Bobby and Jody spend the meal in affable conversation, exchanging stories about when Sam was young. When Cas returns and takes his place beside Dean, he announces that Lyric’s been picked up. While Dean’s sad to see her go, and even more sad that he didn’t get to say goodbye, a certain excitement curls in his stomach at the idea of being alone in their room tonight.

  
The reception plays out like most do, with music and dancing. Dean doesn’t pay much attention to the Father/Daughter dance because there’s food to be had, but more upbeat music afterward does get him out of his seat and onto the dance floor. Cas is too much of a stick in the mud to dance with him, and Dean doesn’t waste too much time trying to force him. Instead he dances with bridesmaids and Sarah while Cas watches contentedly from his seat.

 

Dean does manage to drag Cas on the floor for a round of slow songs after promising the guy that there’s nothing to it. Cas seems comfortable enough to hold Dean and sway like it’s prom night, and Dean is just happy to see him out of his seat. He’s also pleased to see that Bobby and Jody are dancing too – like Cas, Bobby’s been glued to his place at the table. As soon as the tempo picks up Cas and Bobby are back at the table, though, and Dean and Jody both roll their eyes at each other.

 

Cas’ cake is, predictably, both delicious and beautiful. As per Cas’ request, no one was told that he was the one who made it. Subsequently, the only compliments on Cas’ incredible work are from Dean, who eats every bite pointedly and suggestively.

 

Sarah, the bridesmaids and all the other single female guests all gather in the dance floor and everyone else clears out for the bouquet toss. She faces away from them with her eyes closed and tosses the bouquet backward forcefully, too forcefully; it’s easily going to overshoot the clustering crowd of women. In fact, Sarah’s at a weird angle of the dance floor, and the trajectory of the bouquet leaves the bouquet –

 

 – _in Dean’s lap_. There are some whistles and catcalls and Sarah grins devilishly when she turns around, confirming that this was, indeed, on purpose. Dean assumes there’s a crowd of women staring at him murderously right now, but he doesn’t bother looking at him because his throat has gone completely dry.

 

“How ‘bout it, Dean?” someone calls, and Dean determines it to be one of the few hunters of the guests. “When are you gonna pop the question?” Dean stares at the man blankly, features going hard.

 

“Yeah, Dean, you ready to settle down soon?” Jody asks, smiling good-naturedly. Dean doesn’t return her smile.

 

“Maybe leave this hunter life of yours behind?” Bobby adds quietly, gruffly, and Dean’s had just about enough.

 

Dean stands to his feet and makes a big show of walking the dance floor and handing the bouquet back to Sarah. Sarah’s expression, which had previously been teasing and alight with laughter, has faded considerably. She holds the bouquet loosely, brow wrinkled in confusion.

 

“Dean?” she asks unsurely. Dean doesn’t reply, and addresses the crowd loudly instead.

 

“I think I’m gonna have to demand a do-over on that one,” he says, with a smile that’s too big, too wide. “I mean, after all, this is  _me_  we’re talking about. I don’t do commitment, and I sure as hell don’t do marriage. I have a  _life,_ no offense. There’s probably some poor lovesick chick here who’d love this thing. Don’t waste it on me; I’m never getting married.”

 

Dean doesn’t wait for a reply from Sarah; he just walks back to his place at the table. There’s barely a moment silence before Sarah plays it off and does the whole thing over, but Dean’s not paying attention. Cas’ place at the table is empty, and Dean catches sight of the other man across the lawn just as he closes the back door behind him. Instead of following him, Dean orders a beer from the bartender.

 

*

 

There are soft, wet lips on Dean’s neck and Dean isn’t drunk enough for this to be anywhere near okay.

 

The reception outside is coming to a close, but Dean’s inside in a dark hallway of Sarah’s house and he’s not alone. One of the tipsier bridesmaids followed him and pounced the moment he turned a corner, snaking her hands behind his neck and leaving lipstick trails across his skin. Dean doesn’t do anything, doesn’t touch her or kiss back, but he doesn’t push her away, either. He leans against the wall and tips his head back, shutting his eyes as she breathes him in and explores his throat.

 

It’s when she opens her mouth to leave a bite that Dean finally snaps out of it, grabbing her by her shoulders and gently pushing her off.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m taken,” he says quietly. The girl laughs.

 

“Thought you didn’t do commitment?” she asks, wiping her mouth.

 

Dean doesn’t respond, just walks quickly from the hallway before he does something he’ll hate himself for. He beelines for the guest bedroom he’s sharing with Cas and takes a deep breath, praying the other man is already asleep. The girl’s laughter echoes in his mind and makes his stomach turn.

 

Dean opens the door to their room and finds Cas very much awake, curled up in bed with a book. Cas’ eyes narrow to slits when Dean walks in. Dean can feel Cas scanning him, burning through him with a white hot stare and he wishes the floor could swallow him up. It hits him all at once that his neck is probably stained with lipstick. Cas carefully bookmarks his book and sets it on the night table before standing up, crossing the room and grabbing Dean by the sleeves of his tux, shoving him full force against the door, slamming his shoulders and making his head snap against it.

 

Dean hasn’t seen Cas this pissed since the time Dean almost said yes to Michael.

 

“You son of a bitch,” Cas hisses, pulling Dean forward and then shoving him backward again. He grabs Dean by the hair and tilts his head so that his neck is exposed and Dean doesn’t fight back,  _can’t_  fight back.

 

“Is this what you’d prefer?” Cas growls, shaking his grip on Dean’s hair. Dean winces, eyes watering from the pain. “Empty hookups with strangers?”

 

“We didn’t – do anything – ” Dean starts, but Cas laughs bitterly and spins him around, shoving him forcefully to the ground.

 

_“Is this what I’m worth to you, Dean?”_  Cas asks, and he’s almost shouting now, loud enough that someone would hear if they walked by their door. “You can whisper anything you want to me when we’re alone, but deny me in front of everyone else? This is the man I fell for?”

 

That jabs at Dean’s heart; he doesn’t know if Cas is using “fell” literally or figuratively.

 

“Cas, you know I love –”

 

“No. Shut up, Dean. I don’t want to hear that from you right now.”

 

Cas stands above Dean, taking heavy breaths, fists curled. Dean shuts his eyes and braces himself for the inevitable punch, but it doesn’t come.

 

Instead, Cas says, “Get up.”

 

Dean’s in no place to question, so he doesn’t, just stands to his feet and keeps his eyes trained on the ground. Cas shoves him into the door again, but this time his lips follow and he’s kissing Dean, hard and heavy and  _fierce_  and Dean will take this over getting beaten up any day. Cas is all teeth, nipping sharply and unapologetically at Dean’s lips, drawing blood without conscience. His nails curl in Dean’s tuxedo jacket and he tugs at far more ferociously than someone should with such an expensive article of clothing.

 

“Take it off,” he commands in a low voice, and Dean instantly complies, chucking the thing to the side.

 

Cas is back on him the second the material hits the ground, pushing his leg between Dean’s thighs and forcefully untucking Dean’s shirt from his pants. He pops a button of Dean’s shirt off in his haste to undress him, and Dean closes his hands over Cas’ gently to ground him just the slightest bit. Cas bats Dean’s hands away but the action seems to have served its purpose, because no more buttons are lost to Cas’ fury.

 

Dean notices that Cas isn’t kissing his neck, like he usually does, and it stings that it’s his own fault for it. Cas still bites hard at the place where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, though, holding on with his teeth longer than he would otherwise, working the flesh with his tongue. Dean whimpers and his head falls back against the door. He sucks his teeth and his toes curl because it’s riding the line between pain and pleasure very close and Dean’s not entirely sure where one ends and the other one begins.

 

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean gasps, voice already wrecked.

 

_“Shut up,”_  Cas hisses in response, and there’s something about the authoritative tone in Cas’ voice that makes Dean want to submit in every way possible, to be the epitome of obedience. He’s more than willing to keep quiet and let Cas claim him, make a battleground of his skin, just take and take and  _take_. There’s a weird thrill to the idea that this is punishment, that Cas is trying to teach him a lesson by asserting his absolute dominance – and maybe it’s a little twisted, but Dean’s not complaining.

 

“Get on the bed,” Cas directs sharply, stepping back from Dean. Dean complies without hesitation, kicking off his shoes in the process. He leans back on the bed and watches as Cas strips, taking his time with each button in what is clearly an attempt to drive Dean crazy.

 

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean breathes, and Cas’ eyes dart up from his buttons and he stares Dean down fiercely, sending chills down Dean’s spine.

 

“Stop talking, Dean.”

 

Dean swallows hard and nods, fists curling in the sheets.

 

At last, Cas is stripped down to his boxers and he joins Dean on the bed, covering him with his body and pinning both of Dean’s arms to the bed. He surges forward with more bruising kisses, tongue exploring Dean’s mouth fervently. Dean’s body arches up to meet Cas’ and his hands try in vain to grasp at something, anything. He wants to tug at Cas’ hair or scratch up his back, but he’s completely at Cas’ mercy now. The rest of Dean’s body seems to be overcompensating for the lack of freedom in his arms, because his hips are rising again and again to meet Cas’ and force friction. Dean’s chest is heaving and stuttering like he’s drowning.

 

“On your hands and knees, Dean,” Cas commands… and it’s sending a message, too, because they rarely do this position because they like to be able to look at each other when they’re having sex. This is Cas wordlessly telling Dean that he can’t look him in the eyes right now, and it stings. Not enough to keep the thought of Cas pounding into him from behind do anything but take him from half-mast to fully erect in half a second flat, though.

 

Assisted by a rather forceful shove from Cas, Dean rolls over onto his stomach and then scrambles up onto his hands and knees as directed. The idea occurs to him that Cas might  _just_ be pissed enough to try and go at this without lube or something equally insane, but the abrupt feeling of a slicked up finger inside him eases his woes – Cas wants him to enjoy this. A second and third finger are added and Dean has to grit his teeth to keep from saying anything, because every flex of Cas’ fingers makes Dean want to babble obscenities and right now he’s not allowed to speak. He gasps spastically and grabs desperate at the sheets, constantly clamping his mouth shut to keep from speaking. He lets out a sound that is definitely  _not_ a whimper at one point, which is punished by a sharp yank to his hair from Cas.

 

It’s fucking hot as hell.

 

Cas’ fingers go from  _great_ to  _not enough_  way too quickly, and soon Dean’s whole body is tense and desperate to be filled with something more substantial. If Cas is aware of Dean’s growing desperation, he makes no indication. Once he finds Dean’s prostrate he brushes it again and again, slowly and with unbearably long pauses in between, tearing Dean apart.

 

“Cas,  _please_ ,” Dean finally begs in a rasping voice, at last unable to hold his tongue. Cas bites hard at his shoulder in response, dragging his teeth, and Dean all but whines. The floodgates of enforced muteness have all but been trampled, now, and Dean is begging for mercy like a prisoner. At last he hears a low, dark chuckle from behind him that sends great shivers coursing through his body, and he’s suddenly empty of fingers.

 

Just when the pause has started to seriously ebb at Dean’s sanity, he’s filled all at once and he  _moans_ , biting his lip at the tail end of it to curb his volume. Cas’ nails dig into his waist and he doesn’t move at all for what feels like forever, building the tension and making Dean’s head spin. Finally, finally, he moves, setting a fast pace of intense, ceaseless thrusts that wrack Dean’s body with waves of pleasure.

 

“Fuck, Cas,  _please_  touch me,” Dean pleas eventually, when he’s aching so bad he feels like collapsing and rutting into the bed for want of friction. He feels one of Cas’ hands slide around to trace his lower stomach and it lingers there, teasing.

 

“No. I want you to come without being touched,” Cas instructs. His grip on his authoritative tone is slipping because Dean knows he’s close to climax. The idea of getting off on the feel of Cas inside him alone is hot as hell and appealing in  _theory_ , but at this point Dean’s desperate to come and would love to save that prospect for a rainy day. Cas is calling the shots now, though, so Dean doesn’t have a say in what happens to his dick right about now.

 

As Cas’ thrusts become uneven as he stutters towards an orgasm, he manages to hit Dean’s prostrate more often than not, sending Dean reeling with pleasure. Finally Cas comes, deep inside Dean and his hand finds the scar on Dean’s arm and grips it tight, digging his nails in. Cas doesn’t have to speak to let it be known that this is a _claim_ , that Dean is being reminded that he’s been marked and belongs to someone.

 

It is this final action that practically punches the orgasm out of Dean, shaking electricity through his spine, sending endorphins dancing through his bloodstream. He shouts  _something_ – he knows because Cas weakly pulls on his hair in response – though he’s not entirely sure what he says. All he’s aware of is that Cas is spent and wrecked and still _inside_ him, languid and blissed out after ramming into Dean again and again. Dean collapses into the bed, boneless, and buries his face in the pillow. His skin feels like fire is skirting around the air just above it.

 

Cas pulls out and lays beside Dean wordlessly, and the atmosphere is strange. Where there would normally be pillow talk and cuddling there’s only silence, and only the lingering euphoria of a mind-blowing orgasm is keeping the sick  _wrongness_  of the moment from making Dean nauseous. Thankfully, sleep takes him quickly and he doesn’t have long to dwell in the mess he’s made.

 

 

*

 

The window in the bedroom has a thick curtain that blocks out sunlight, so it hardly feels like morning when Dean wakes up. He sits up sleepily, looking around for his phone or a clock to tell him what time it is. He finds Cas already awake, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Dean’s heart aches a little. He wants to lean down and kiss Cas, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed. Cas’ expression as he looks up at Dean is open and lacking last night’s hostility, but Dean still feels like he’s treading on something fragile.

 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says, before they can exchange good mornings or pretend everything’s fine – Dean knows he screwed up, and he’s not going to run from it. Cas sighs, but he doesn’t seem to be exasperated. Just tired.

 

“I know you are, Dean,” he replies quietly, lifting his hand and gently tracing the line where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder. Dean winces; the bite there seems to have broken skin, because it still hurts. Cas’ touch is feather light. In some ways, Cas’ anger was more palatable than this – at least then, Dean knew what he was supposed to feel.

 

“I screwed up,” he starts to continue. “But Cas, I promise, nothing –”

 

Cas silences him by gently pressing a finger to Dean’s lips.

 

“It’s okay, Dean. I forgive you.”

 

Dean heaves a big sigh, all of the tension and worry flooding from his system. A very real fear had been lurking in his mind – that this would be  _it_ , that everything would finally be over and Dean would lose the greatest thing to ever happen to him. He lies down beside Cas, now, wrapping an arm tight around him, tugging him close. He wants to whisper  _thank you_  like a mantra, press the words into every inch of Cas’ skin so that he knows how goddamn grateful he is, but he can’t bring himself to speak.

 

“I should apologize too, Dean,” Cas says after an indeterminably long moment of silence, broken only by the sound of their quiet breathing.

 

“You?” Dean asks, shocked and entirely confused. Unless Cas is talking about the really great angry sex, Dean has no idea what he’s talking about.

 

“Yes,” Cas replies evenly. “I’m sorry for wanting more of you than what you are willing to give. You are enough, more than enough, just as you are. That was foolish of me, and I apologize.”

 

Dean swallows hard because it feels like something’s in his throat, catching on his every breath. He wants to tell Cas that  _no_ , he’s not asking too much, that this apology is so many kinds of messed up because that’s not how a relationship is supposed to work. He wants to remind Cas of his own promise –  _“I’ll make sure I’m never unwilling to give exactly what you need.”_  But these emotions are all mountains and abstract thoughts and Dean can’t scale any of them.

 

So he does what he can do, which is to draw Cas even closer, pulling him chest-to-chest against himself and tangling up their legs. He presses a kiss to Cas’ nose and Cas’ face wrinkles up in that adorable way that it does whenever Dean does that. They both smile at each other and go in for a kiss at the same time. The synchrony of the motion makes Dean laugh and he kisses Cas again and again, and each time their lips brush, Dean feels more and more okay. What they have isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, and it’s sure as hell not the fairytale that Sam and Sarah have… but it’s something. Something beautiful.

 

And, Dean hopes, something that will last.


	18. Of Pirate Princesses, Cowboys and Firemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the very peak of autumn and the world is an array of colorful leaves and fresh October air. Imminent Halloween's got Dean's mouth watering at the idea of Cas in a western costume - it is NOT a fetish, by the way - and he's so ready to spend the night ogling Cas until all their candy has been passed out by trick-or-treaters.
> 
> A happy turn of events has their favorite little girl derailing his less-than-innocent plans with need for a trick-or-treating escorts; naturally Dean and Cas are the only men for the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first update that's been more than a day late since the series' inception! I have had a shit ton of stuff on my plate lately and unfortunately USV has been the least of them. I guess a week isn't the worst thing in the world. Incidentally, that shit ton of stuff is the reason that this one is comparatively shorter than the rest.
> 
> My mysterious anonymous beta, too, is lost of the world of real world responsibilities, and hasn't had the chance to look this over yet. I'll likely post an updated version some time in the near future.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dozens of red and gold leaves give off a satisfying crunch that seamlessly coalesces into the late October air when a pile of them is abruptly crushed by a fallen angel. Said fallen angel shuts his eyes and breathes in deep, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. He’s also wearing a bright orange sweater with a huge jack-o'-lantern face on it.

  
Dean watches fondly as Cas soaks in the divine bliss that is  _autumn_ , even revels in it a little bit himself. It’s a peaceful, quiet moment, disturbed only by the sound of squirrels skittering around in the yard. Cas is lying in a pile of leaves that Dean himself raked only an hour ago, which Dean finds almost comical. Because, really? With the life that he’s led, never in a million years did he think he’d ever be voluntarily  _raking leaves_  in a flat that he  _pays rent_ for every month. Yet here he is, sitting on their tiny porch as Cas lays in a pile of them amidst their veritable horrorland of Halloween decorations. This has been his life for months - almost a year - and sometimes it’s still very surreal.  
  
“Join me, Dean?” Cas asks, gaze veering from the gray, overcast skies to where Dean is sitting.  
  
“No! I was promised pumpkin pie,” Dean replies in a faux whiny tone. “The longer we’re outside, the less time you’re in the kitchen making me pie.”  
  
“I’m not your housewife, Dean,” Cas says shortly. “Besides, we have to carve our jack-o’-lanterns first either way.” He makes a scarcely audible huff that Dean only picks up on because he knows Cas so well. “To redeem yourself of that comment, you must join me.”  
  
Dean leaves the two large bags from the the local Halloween store that he’s been holding on the porch beside their assortment of pumpkins and stands up, striding over to Cas. He stops above the leaf pile, looking at his boyfriend.  
  
“Can’t argue with that logic,” he says with a grin, and plops down so that the leaves crunch beneath him and some fly about.  
  
“Thank you,” Cas says warmly, and Dean grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. They stay there a long moment before Cas stretches and sits up. He looks at Dean for a moment, as though contemplating something, and Dean looks back at him. Cas leans down and kisses him gently before getting to his feet and offering a hand to Dean.  
  
“I’d like to try on our costumes now,” Cas announces as Dean scrambles to his feet. Both of Dean’s eyebrows raise.  
  
“I’m not putting that damn thing on until Halloween.”  
  
At this, Cas puts on what Dean can only define as The-Puppy-Dog-Face-Cas-Stole-From-Sam. He grabs the bags and two of their five pumpkins when the reach the porch and Dean grabs the other three. There’s a bit of awkwardness as Cas reaches into Dean’s pocket to grab the house keys and open the door without dropping anything.  
  
“Hey, don’t give me that face. I agreed to wear a stupid costume. I get to choose  _when_ ,” Dean retorts. He leads them into the kitchen, where they dump the pumpkins on the table and Cas opens the bags from the Halloween store, peering in.  
  
“I’d like to see how it fits. You wouldn’t try it on in the store,” Cas persists. Dean shakes his head resolutely.  
  
“You see it on Halloween, Cas, no room for negotiation. And after that it gets burned.”  
  
Cas chuckles.  
  
“That would be fairly ironic, considering what the costume is.”  
  
Cas has a fair point; there’s a sort of poetic irony to the idea of a burning fireman costume. Which, somehow, is what Cas convinced Dean to wear for Halloween. To be fair, Cas’ costume is 100% the product of Dean whining and practically begging that Cas humor his...  _not_  fetish. Dean does not have a cowboy fetish. He likes westerns and he likes his boyfriend, so why not combine the two?  
  
And, hey, if the mental image alone makes his mouth water a little, it’s still  _not_ evidence that it’s a fetish.  
  
“Ironic, maybe, but totally happening,” Dean says with a shrug and a grin.  
  
Cas sighs heavily and the vestiges of his pout slowly ebb from his face, and Dean counts it as a win. He rarely has the ability to hold a candle to those big blue eyes. He’s got it down to a science, and Dean firmly holds to the theory that Sam taught it to him intentionally.  
  
“Time for jack-o’-lanters,” Cas says, dismissing Dean entirely.  
  
“And then pie?” Dean asks hopefully.  
  
“Yes, Dean. And then pie,” Cas agrees, sighing facetiously as he pulls the carving set from the bag and sits down. “What are you going to carve?”  
  
“Uh. A scary face? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” Dean asks, sitting at the table opposite Cas. Cas wrinkles his nose.  
  
“That’s not very festive,” he says, frowning. Dean sits back in his seat and groans.  
  
“You and your holidays, man. Never can be easy, can they? What should I carve?”  
  
“That’s for you to decide, Dean,” Cas replies unhelpfully. He starts carving off the tops of the pumpkins while Dean stews on this.  
  
“What are you making?” Dean asks after a while. At this point, Cas is scooping pumpkin pulp into a large bowl and Dean has been watching him absently.  
  
“I’m making a rabbit so that Sunshine can participate in Halloween, and I’m also making... a feather.”  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas.  
  
“A feather?”  
  
Cas squirms and stares diligently at his pumpkin.  
  
“Wings,” he says softly, his grip on his carving tool slipping. Dean takes a deep breath because he suddenly  _gets_  it and kind of wishes he hadn’t asked. He covers Cas’ hand with his own and gives it a squeeze. Cas looks up at him gratefully, and whatever lingering sadness might have been in his eyes is gone.  
  
“Can I carve a pentagram?” Dean asks finally, steering the subject away from symbolism and wistfulness. “It could look badass and protect the house at the same time.”  
  
Cas’ eyes light up, and he looks incredibly pleased.  
  
“That sounds perfect, Dean.”  
  
*  
  
They end up with four jack-o’-lanterns out front with flickering candles inside, bright lights making the designs glow brightly against the dark October night. Dean surprised them both by being quite skilled with a carving knife - which, in hindsight, shouldn’t have been much of a surprise - and his pentagram looks fearsome and intimidating. He’s also to credit for the creepy-faced jack-o’-lantern who shares the porch with the other designs. Both Cas and Dean decided it wouldn’t be right not to indulge the classic, stereotypical pumpkin.  
  
The fifth pumpkin went to the awesome pie currently baking in the oven, for which Dean is practically salivating in anticipation. The smell of it resonates throughout the tiny apartment and Dean can smell it from where he sits on the couch beside Cas, sipping hot apple cider. Nightmare Before Christmas is playing on the TV and Cas is watching it intently. On the screen, Jack sings “ _But who here would ever understand / that the pumpkin king with the skeleton grin / Would tire of his crown? If they only understood / he'd give it all up if he only could_ _”_  and Dean thinks the guy is pretty alright for a creature he’d probably gank if he existed in real life. Dean usually hates Halloween movies because they’re so lame in comparison to real life - and, thankfully, Cas agrees - but Dean kinda likes the kid movies Cas has been choosing for them to watch. However, he totally didn’t cry when Casper met his mom or anything. That would be decidedly unmanly.  
  
“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks as ‘Jack’s Lament’ ends. Cas breaks his laser stare from the TV and gives Dean an appraising look.  
  
“Yes, Dean?”  
  
“You haven’t mentioned what we’re actually doing for Halloween tomorrow. I mean, we’re kind of old to go trick-or-treating.”  
  
Cas furrows his brow thoughtfully, as though this has just occurred to him. In his frenzy of decorating and preparing, he seems to have forgotten the main event. Not that the place doesn’t look as amazing as ever for the occasion. Orange and black streamers are strung across the ceiling, and bats and spiders hang amongst them. Skeletons of various sizes decorate the shelves and walls, smiling wickedly. Pumpkin and ghost shaped candles have replaced the usual ones on every open space there is. Dean’s favorite ones are white and appear to be dipped in red blood. They even have a bath mat in the bathroom that looks like blood when it’s stepped on with wet feet. All in all, their house is creepy and creative as hell, and Dean loves it.  
  
“I suppose we could dress up and pass out candy to trick-or-treaters,” Cas says after a moment. “And afterwards, we could -”  
  
Cas’ thought is interrupted by the sound of Dean’s phone ringing, blasting out the chorus of  _Hell’s Bells_. Dean fishes through his pocket for it and finds Jayne’s number glowing on the screen. He answers it immediately.  
  
“Dean?” Jayne asks, sounding... inexplicably hesitant.  
  
“Yeah, that’d be me. What’s up?” Dean asks, sitting back in his seat and squishing in beside Cas. Cas leans in and listens.  
  
Jayne heaves a sigh.  
  
“I got called into work tomorrow,” she says, and Dean can just picture how she’s probably biting her lip anxiously, wrinkling worn worry lines in her forehead that have been caused prematurely by half a decade as a single mother. He has to smile; he knows where she’s going with this, and he knows how relieved she’ll be in a moment.  
  
“I was supposed to go trick or treating with Lyric,” she  goes on dejectedly, “but I can’t afford not to go in tomorrow. Are you - is there... is there any chance you and Castiel aren’t working tomorrow?”  
  
Dean laughs at the way Cas perks up and his eyes light up.  
  
“We have every holiday off, even the dumb ones. It’s pretty much part of our contract. We’d love to take the kid trick-or-treating. In fact, you have no idea how much we’d love to. Holidays are kind of a big deal to us.”  
  
This time when Jayne sighs, it’s in relief.  
  
“You’re both angels,” she says, which Dean finds amusing. He winks at Cas, who cracks a smile.  
  
“When should we pick her up?” Dean asks.  
  
“Would you mind picking her up at school? She gets out of kindergarten at three. I’ll let the teacher know who you are.”  
  
“Let her know it’s the firefighter and the cowboy,” Dean says, and Jayne laughs.  
  
“Firefighter and the cowboy, got it. She’ll be so excited. She really does love you guys, probably more than you know.  It’s... nice, having father figures in her life. I think she needed that more than I realized.”  
  
Dean swallows something in his throat and clears it to subsequently clear his head. Cas looks at him curiously and Dean reminds himself he’s on the phone and is expected to speak.  
  
“Yeah, well, I think we needed a kid in our lives more than we realized, too. So that worked out pretty well.”  
  
And, damn, if Dean doesn’t ever mean it.  
  
*  
  
“I look stupid,” Dean calls from the bathroom irritably, adjusting his firefighter hat in the mirror. He definitely does, too, and the only thing that made him maintain his commitment to this after putting it on is the passing comment Cas made about how eagerly he anticipates peeling off all the costume’s layers tonight. Which, yeah, pretty good incentive there.  
  
Cas, to his surprise, doesn’t chime in with his dissent. When Dean wanders out of the bathroom, he finds Cas staring at himself in the hall mirror with his head tilted and his brow furrowed.  
  
“I don’t think this is a period accurate costume, Dean,” Cas says, hands worrying the edges of the cowboy hat in his hands. Dean snorts.  
  
“Who’s the Western movie buff here, Cas? Me or you?”  
  
Cas gives him a deadpan stare.  
  
“And who was  _alive_  during the Western era, Dean?”  
  
This effectively shuts Dean up because, yeah, the guy kind of has a point there. And if Dean’s willing to admit - and he’s  _not_ \- he may have veered from the more accurate costumes and chosen something a little more form-fitting for his boyfriend. It’s not Dean’s fault that the button-up black collared shirt and faded brown leather vest look better on the guy than its more authentic counterpart would. Dean’s not sorry, nope. He made the right decision here.  
  
“Listen, Cas. I think you look sexy as hell - and that’s what counts, right? I’m not even entirely sure if I wanna let you out of the house so that other people can see you. Don’t want any strange men trying to take you home.”  
  
Cas looks adorably confused, tilting his head just the slightest bit.  
  
“I don’t understand. Why would strange men try to take me home?”  
  
Dean laughs, ruffling Cas’ hair.  
  
“Well, for starters, you ask questions like that. C’mon, we’ve gotta go pick up Lyric. If I have to wear this, you have to wear that. Let’s go.”  
  
Cas stares at the hat in his hands for a moment, shakes his head, and then subtly drops it on the couch on their way out. Dean almost whines about it, but he decides to let it slide. Cas doesn’t even  _need_  the hat. He’s already  _there._  
  
*  
  
Kindergarteners are picked up from a side entrance that leads into a fenced playground area. Parents - almost exclusively mothers, it seems - wait here for their kids to get out of school every day. Younger children who are not yet school age are allowed to play here while their mothers wait.  
  
Dean and Cas arrive with time to spare, and consequently find themselves in this area with the mothers. Dean and Cas are the only men, and are two of the four total parents in costumes. They stick out like sore thumbs and are getting weird looks accordingly.  
  
Just as it’s getting so awkward that Dean’s tempted to just bail and tell  Cas to meet him with Lyric in the Impala, the school bell resounds through the playground. The kindergarten classes’ doors open with children lined up on the other side of them, and Dean can see Lyric at the front of one of them, wiggling excitedly. When she catches sight of Cas and Dean across the playground, her eyes go wide and she waves spastically. The teacher, who’s standing beside her, follows Lyric’s line of vision and smiles at Dean and Cas. She waves and then sends Lyric off, and the little girl bounds across the playground at high speed. Only then does Dean get a good look at her costume.  
  
“A princess... pirate?” Dean asks incredulously, giving a tug on one of her tiny pigtails. She nods enthusiastically and steps back, spinning around to show off her outfit.  
  
“I’m so excited because it’s  _Halloween_  and you guys are here and we’re gonna trick or treat and get  _candy_.” Dean puts a hand on her head to stop her spinning before they both get dizzy. Now that her spinning’s stopped, he can fully take in the humor in the little girl’s outfit. She’s wearing it with an eyepatch, a red bandana with a skull on it, and a tiny black vest. Her hair has skull barrettes at the base of both ponytails.  
  
“We are excited too, Lyric,” Cas says - which is hilarious, because the guy is so monotone that it hardly shows. Lyric doesn’t question it for a moment, though, and Dean likes that. For a kid, she really seems to  _get_ Cas, which Dean’s grateful for.  
  
“We’re gonna hit every house in town until you can’t walk anymore, kid. You’ll make out like a bandit,” Dean says, winking at her as they make their way out of the playground.  
  
“Like a  _pirate_ ,” Lyric protests, giving him a firm, reproaching look. Then she adds, “A  _princess_  pirate.”  
  
Dean raises both hands in a signal of surrender.  
  
“Sorry, sorry. Don’t make me walk the plank.”  
  
“I can’t, you’re the captain!” she chirps, all feigned sternness gone, and she grabs both Cas and Dean’s hands and walks between them, humming some nondescript pirate song that she may or may not be making up as she goes.  
  
*  
Lyric runs up to the first house, pigtails bobbing, and for a moment all Dean can see is Sam at five years old as a chubby Spiderman, grinning as he rings the doorbell. He’s hit with a wave of nostalgia that catches him off guard as he remembers being nine years old, taking his brother trick-or-treating while their dad was passed out, drunk on the couch. Lyric says “trick or treat!” in a sing-song voice, and Dean is taken back to the concerned looks from strangers who wondered where their parents were.  
  
But the excited look on Lyric’s face when her Jack-o’-Lantern pail is filled up also brings back the warm feeling of watching Sam’s eager face as they paraded from house to house. Something surges in Dean, something powerfully paternal, and a part of him suddenly wishes this was every day, just getting to see these little moments. He almost articulates this to Cas, who is watching Lyric fondly as she races ahead to ring another doorbell, but the words all catch on his tongue.  
  
They trick or treat for three hours, until Lyric’s yawns are more frequent than her cries of “trick-or-treat! It’s not very late, but the combination of the sun setting early because of daylight savings time and a massive amount of walking has worn her out. Cas and Dean take turns carrying Lyric back to the Impala. Dean can’t help but smile at the sight of Lyric’s face buried in Cas’ neck, arms wrapped around him. He sneaks a photo and sets it as his phone background, replacing the picture of Dr. Sexy that was previously there.  
  
When Jayne comes to pick Lyric up from their flat about an hour later, Lyric’s asleep on the couch, having fallen asleep in the middle of Casper. Jayne looks ragged and tired, and almost a little wistful as she watches her sleeping child once she’s been invited in.  
  
“It gets hard to make ends meet sometimes,” she says quietly, walking over and gently letting Lyric’s hair loose from its pigtails.  
  
“Would you like some tea?” Cas offers, and the look of sheer gratitude on her face is compelling.  
  
“God yes.”  
  
There’s a slight crinkle to Cas’ eyes as he goes about brewing “Boo Berry” tea for the three of  them, which Dean picks up only because of experience. Jayne is slumped back in her seat, covering her mouth as she yawns.  
  
“I’ve been saving to buy a house,” she tells them. “I want Lyric to have a backyard some day soon. She wants a treehouse.” Jayne sighs, and Cas hands her a black teacup that has a cheerful ghost on it. “I have to work a lot more than I’d like to. And my family... well, let's just say that you guys and me are the only family Lyric has.”  
  
“We’ll build the treehouse when you make it happen,” Dean promises without hesitation. Lyric smiles appreciatively.

  
“Thank you.”  
  
They sip their tea in affable silence after that, comfortable enjoying each other’s company.Dean likes Jayne, likes her because she raised such a great kid despite all the obstacles in her path. It’s inspirational in a way that civilians usually aren’t, and Dean is incredibly endeared to her. She’s becoming kind of like family, lately.  
  
Once their tea is drained, Jayne gives them both one last grateful smile before standing up, stretching a bit.  
  
“I can’t thank you enough,” she says graciously. Dean facetiously rolls his eyes.  
  
“Enough, enough - we love having her, seriously. Cas would have been pacing the flat all day trying to think of Halloween stuff to do. He got the full experience because of you guys. I should be thanking you.”  
  
Cas nods.  
  
“Yes. Thank you.”  
  
Jayne has this look like she’s gazing at angels - the not-dickish kind - and Dean feels inexplicably embarrassed.  
  
Lyric is firmly against the idea of getting up, and whines and squirms when Jayne tries to rouse her. Finally Dean just scoops her up and carries her to the car. She curls up in the backseat, and Dean notices her stick a thumb in her mouth. He takes one last look at the pirate princess, proud of the kid for being damn cool enough to request such a costume.  
  
They all bid their adieus and Dean and Cas stand outside, watching until the car is out of sight. Only then does Cas turn to Dean.  
  
“I’d like to strip you of all these layers now,” he says in his characteristic monotone voice, and Dean shivers and grins.  
  
“Gonna ride me like a cowboy, huh?” He can’t help but make the pun; he’s been waiting to use it all night. Cas furrows his brow and tilts his head slightly.  
  
“Cowboys ride horses, primarily for herding cattle,” he says blankly. Dean laughs.  
  
“It was a - y’know what, nevermind. Basically the idea of being fucked by a cowboy is getting me pretty hot right now, and I think we should get inside before I jump you right here.”  
  
Cas looks contemplative for a moment, brows furrowed.  
  
“Cowboys use rope for lassos, correct?” he asks, and Dean swallows because he knows where Cas is going with this.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Then, would it contribute to your fantasy if I tied you down when I fuck you?”  
  
Dean shudders again, a tremor coursing through his spine.  
  
“Inside the house. Right now. All my western fantasies are about to come true.”

 

*

 

When they make it into the flat, the atmosphere is thick with lust and anticipation. No sooner does the door shut behind them than Dean is on Cas, pinning him to the door with a thigh between the other man's legs, mouths crashing together. Cas' mouth slides open easily, making way for Dean's tongue lick into it. He can taste Boo Berry tea and the faintest bit of Halloween candy, but the recognition is swallowed up in a haze of sensations as they rut together, hips crashing into each other, bodies trembling. There are far, far too many layers between them.

 

Cas pulls back and gives Dean a gentle shove backwards, and Dean raises an eyebrow in confusion.

 

“Will you strip for me, Dean?” Cas asks, voice coming out deep and rough and cautiously eager, like he's afraid the request will be denied.

 

Like Dean could  _ever_ deny a request like that.

 

“Sit on the bed,” Dean instructs with a wink. “I'll give you a show.”  
  
Cas does as he's told, plopping onto the bed and leaning back on his palms, lids and inkblot eyelashes heavy over lust blown pupils and stormy blue irises. Dean swallows hard at the sight because the guy looks so gone already, so completely taken apart, and Dean can't wait to be back on him, skin to skin, making it that much worse. He notes that Cas' hands are curled tightly in the sheets, and he smirks at the excitement that's rolling off his boyfriend in waves.

 

Dean walks right up into Cas' personal space with about a foot or too between them before he starts to strip. He takes his time, letting his fingers trace up and down the zipper before he finally tugs on it. He's going for the slow reveal, aiming to really put Cas out of his mind, and he inches the zipper down incrementally, smirking darkly the whole time. Cas is staring up at him like he's some kind of deity, mouth slack and open just the slightest, eyes wide and body taut. The zipper finally makes it to the end of its path and his coat is free. He shrugs out of it and chucks it easily to the side, tossing his hat along with it.

 

He can  _hear_ Cas suck in his breath, watches the way the other man wets his lips with his tongue, and he's almost tempted to rush through this so he can get back to touching, to move on to fucking. He doesn't, though; he appreciates the value of making Cas wait, making him want it even more than Dean does.

Dean unclips the classic firefighter suspenders one at a time, fingers playing with the buckles a moment to build the tension. He's slow about it, drawing it out, and Cas' gaze is pinned to his movements. He tugs his black t-shirt from where it's tucked into his pants, slowly revealing his skin, inch by inch. He picks up on the quietest noise from Cas once it's over his head and he tosses it on the floor with his other things. Cas' eyes shamelessly rake over Dean's bare chest and arms. Dean chuckles, loving the sight of Cas loving the sight of him.

 

Dean moves closer to Cas so that one of his legs is between both of Cas' legs and there's barely any space between them. They're close enough that Cas has a perfect view of the next layer of Dean's strip tease, which is his firefighter pants. His thumb drags back and forth along the hem of him pants and Cas follows the movement with his eyes, fists curling and uncurling in the sheets. Dean lets this go on for an indeterminable amount of time, just thumbing at where skin meets fabric, driving Cas wild. He watches with eager eyes as Cas' hands try to figure out what to do with themselves, frantic in the sheets.

 

“Dean,” Cas breathes urgently as he slides one of his hands slide into his own lap,palming at his erection. Dean takes a shaky breath, content with the level of desire he's instilled in Cas (and, subsequently, himself) and unbuttons his jeans, slowly pulling down the zipper. He takes a brief awkward moment to up the tension by removing his boots and kicking them away before he's back in Cas' personal space, pulling his pants down past his hips, slowly and unhurried.

 

Once he finally steps out of them and adds them to the pile of layers that has formed on the floor, he's standing in nothing but the cheesy black boxers with flames on them that Cas picked out to go with the costume. Cas is eying the tent in Dean's underwear like a feral animal, lust-pumped and ready to pounce. Dean thumbs at the edges of his boxers like he did with his pants like he intends to draw it all out the same way again, but even he's not that cruel. He pulls them down with less grace than before, finally too eager for finesse.

 

Cas makes a tiny, indecipherable noise that might have been a swallowed up moan at the sight of Dean free and completely naked, standing before him. It feels a little weird, wearing nothing when Cas is fully clothed, but the way Cas is looking at him is so heated that Dean doesn't have time to feel exposed. Cas reaches out and gives Dean's dick a tentative stroke, and Dean shuts his eyes, breathing shakily. Cas adjusts his grip so it's firmer, and clearly he has the intent of jerking Dean off to an excellent orgasm – which sounds great, but it's not how Dean's planned tonight going. He was completely serious about Cas riding him like a cowboy.

 

… not that it's a fetish or anything.

 

He gently directs Cas' hand away, earning an irritated huff from Cas, but all protests die on the angel's tongue when Dean sinks to his knees between the other man's legs. He nuzzles into Cas' crotch, and he can hear clearly the sound of Cas' breathing from above him, ragged and uneven. He looks up at him with a wicked grin and hungry eyes before setting to work on Cas' belt, which has a big belt buckle featuring a bull to supplement the costume. He makes a big show of pulling the belt all the way through and tossing it on the floor, and there's something decidedly hot about the noise it makes when the buckle hits the ground.

 

“Dean, please,” Cas rasps, hips twitching, clearly displeased with Dean's pace. Dean snickers.

 

“Take it easy, I've got you,” he says soothingly, running both hands up the insides of Cas' thighs before they come to rest on the button of his jeans. He pauses just long enough for Cas' hips to make themselves known again, jutting forward, though Dean isn't sure if it's intentional or not. He makes like he's going to finally get to Cas' jeans, but decides better of it and opts to remove Cas' cowboy boots instead, making Cas practically growl.

 

“Dean, if you do not suck me off  _right now,_ there will be serious consequences,” he hisses – and the thing is that he's totally not joking. Dean's rarely disobedient in bed, which means he's not one to ignore direct orders like that. If he's honest, he seriously gets off on Cas ordering him around. So he tosses Cas' shoes aside and finally, finally unzips Cas' jeans and tugs them down to his thighs with his underwear, freeing Cas' erection. Cas squeezes his eyes shut as Dean licks a stripe along the bottom of his dick.

 

“Please,” Cas all but whimpers, sounding all broken and wrecked, and, yeah Dean is so done with this slow buildup thing.

 

He swallows Cas up, trying to take him in as far he can. Cas is definitely the king as far as blow jobs go; his bizarre lack of gag reflex makes it so he can deep-throat like a porn star and he actually gets off ongetting his face fucked. Dean can hold his own, though, even if  _he's_  not porn star material in this particular trade. Cas has sure as hell never complained.

 

He finds a rhythm that works for him and sets Cas off making strangled noises, body shuddering. Dean bobs his head, tongue probing, watching as the little things he does with his tongue create noticeable reactions in Cas. Dean grips the base with one hand and uses the other to hold Cas' stuttering pelvis steady, gratified by the knowledge that Cas can't help the tiny thrusts because he's  _that_ into it. There's something overwhelming about having his mouth stuffed full of Cas, stretched wide, spit pooling at the edges of his mouth, that makes his blood run hot and his dick hard as concrete. Cas' hands are scrabbling through his hair, trying in vain to hold onto the short spikes. Finally a hand ends up on the back of Dean's neck, not quite strong enough to be considered pushing but gripping powerfully enough to make its presence known. Dean moans, short and quiet, around Cas' dick, dizzy with the sheer pleasure of sucking his partner off.

 

Dean knows Cas, though, and he knows that Cas won't want to come until Dean is as close as he is, so Dean reluctantly pulls off, wiping his mouth lewdly and staring up at Cas.

 

“On your back,” Cas hisses, not missing a beat, “right now. Wrists at the headboard.”

 

The second Dean gets up, Cas is heading for their closet, where they've got rope around from the last time they did this. It's sort of a special occasion kind of thing – and Cas in a cowboy outfit? Definitely a special occasion. Dean almost gleefully crawls into bed and stretches his arms out, ready to be tied down. He's been ready to fuck a cowboy since, like,  _middle school;_ he's about to live out his western fantasies.

 

Cas shucks his pants and underwear and goes for his vest before Dean cuts him off hurriedly.

 

“No! I mean, uh, can you just. Leave it on.”

 

Cas rolls his eyes, a gesture he picked up from Dean.

 

“If you wish,” he says, before he's on the bed and crawling over Dean's body, sliding them together as he works on the knots that will bind Dean to the bed. Dean's never been on this end of the restraints before; usually it's Cas who gets a random desire to be tied down. As the knots close around his wrists, though, Dean thinks he sees the appeal.

 

As soon as Dean is secure, Cas crashes their lips together, kissing hungrily, and Dean's struck with the weird sensation of wanting to do things with his hands that he cannot. Every instinct in him tells him to tug on Cas' hair and roam his fingers over the other man's body, but the restraints keep him pinned down.

 

It's fucking hot.

 

Cas ravages his mouth until Dean's grinding hard up against him, half unaware of the desperate pleas leaving his mouth. Cas seems freakin' immune to them, and Dean figures bitterly that it's payback for his slow pace earlier. Dean's not interested in a slow pace anymore now, though; he's so, so ready to get mounted and screwed by a goddamn  _cowboy_  right about now, and the time for buildup has ended.

 

“Cas, c'mon,” he all but moans into a kiss, biting down hard to get Cas' attention. “I need you, buddy. Like, right now.”

 

“I'd prefer you put a little more effort into your begging, Dean,” Cas says, sounding composed as hell for a guy who looks so  _wrecked_ and moments ago was receiving a pretty extraordinary blowjob. Dean knows from experience, though, that Cas is nowhere near as put together right now as he appears.

 

Still, Dean's become pretty shameless in the bedroom, and he doesn't think twice before giving in to the inclination to beg like a dying prisoner.

 

“Please,” Dean gasps, not even trying to disguise the desperation in his voice. “Please, Cas, angel, c'mon. Need you,” he adds at the end, practically squeaking it.

 

It's this last sentiment that seems to compel Cas, because finally he pulls back and leans over the side of the bed, foraging blindly for lube. It hits Dean with a jolt that Cas is going to be prepping  _himself,_  which sends a little chill down his spine, makes his hips thrust of their own accord. The sound of the lube's cap sounds loud in the quiet of the living room.

 

Cas sits on the opposite side of the bed, and Dean has just enough leverage with the ropes to sit up the slightest bit and watch Cas draw his legs up and reach beneath him with slicked up fingers. Cas' legs are wide open, and Dean's got a pretty good view of the way Cas' mouth goes slack and his eyes fall shut as he fingerfucks himself, loosening his muscles so he can ride Dean. Cas makes a stunted, choked noise when he adds a third finger, and Dean thinks he might have found his prostrate – which, whoa, not fair. Dean clears his throat and Cas' eyes snap open, as though he's been snapped out of some kind of reverie.

 

Then he's moving, crawling over Dean's body again and straddling his hips. He sinks down onto Dean's dick and Dean exhales deeply, body shot with pleasure at finally,  _finally_ having attention to his dick. Cas meets his eyes and they're locked in a heated staring contest for a moment before Cas starts to move.

 

They build up a rhythm of upward thrusts from Dean and a skillful rhythm from Cas, with Dean straining subconsciously at his ties, aching to touch Cas but loving the denial of it. Cas makes little adjustments to the angle until he hits a spot that has him moaning, body shaking. All the while, the top half of him is still fully in costume, and Dean feels like he's died and gone to a heaven straight out of every western scene he's made up to masturbate to in his life. It's awesome.

 

Cas is hard as hell and Dean wishes he had at least one hand free to get him off, because he can feel his own orgasm bubbling up in his lower stomach, building with every rocking motion from Cas. At this point his hands are tugging wildly and his head is pressed back firmly against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. The sight of Cas above him when he opens his eyes, looking like the world's most wanton cowboy, is what finally send Dean over the edge, reigns him in like a lasso. His feet scrabble against the sheets and he gasps and pants and stutters like he's been stabbed as he comes inside Cas, hips pushing up against him. Cas' voice cracks when he all but shouts Dean's name.

 

Cas still hasn't come yet, though, which is just friggin unacceptable.

 

“Untie me, Cas,” he says, surprised at how sandpapery his voice sounds. Cas complies without protest and the moment Dean's free, he's on Cas, flipping them so that Cas is beneath him. Only now does he undress Cas, completing his every torrid western fantasy, pulse pounding all the more with every button he undoes.

 

Once Cas is free of the rest of his clothes, Dean trails wet kisses down Cas' body, tongue sliding over flesh from his Adam's apple to his navel, and makes his way back down to finish what he started before. Cas moans as he swallows him up, body twitching, and he's much less in control of himself than he was before. Dean's mouth is barely on Cas' dick very long and he's just barely building up a rhythm when Cas comes down his throat, nails scraping at the back of his neck.

 

Cas goes limp all over as Dean lazily kisses his way back up, ending at Cas' mouth. They explore each others' mouths just for the sake of reveling in the intimacy, and their bodies come together like magnets, chest to chest, limbs entwining automatically. Dean pauses a moment to pull the blankets over them, and he wraps his arms around Cas and buries his face in Cas' neck.

 

“Happy Halloween, Sunshine,” Dean says quietly into Cas' ear, pressing a chaste kiss to it.

 

“Happy Halloween, Dean.”

 

They fall asleep shortly after, quiet and peaceful in their spooky apartment. Dean loves this, loves that he has this, and is happy to have spent yet another holiday in the company of the fallen angel he loves.

 


	19. "Thank You For My Angel"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester has a whole lot to be thankful for this year. He's not exactly grateful for his ineptitude with feelings, though, but he's starting to see that good things and feelings are kind of a package deal.
> 
> ... And maybe he doesn't mind that as much as he used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I have never been so late with a USV update, like... ever. I'm ashamed. I can't even blame it on finals because I didn't have any this semester.
> 
> If it feels rushed at any part, that's because towards the end of writing this installment, I started to get a little desperate to finish because it was so late. So if it reads rushed, it's because it actually is rushed. I didn't wait for my beta before posting because I figured at this point it just needs to be posted as is. If you guys notice errors (spelling, grammar, inconsistency, notes to myself I forgot to take out, etc), please POLITELY point them out in comments! <3 It's possible I'll repost a beta'd version later but I'm kinda mentally done with this and have been for two weeks.
> 
> Somehow it's 11k and only has one sex scene. Sorry guys. I have no idea what happened with this one.

 “You said nothing would change, Sammy. You  _promised_  nothing would change.”

The atmosphere in the tiny kitchen feels tense and charged like a live wire, waiting to crackle into sparks that sting. Dean’s jaw is set and he’s leaning against the counter, one fist curled around the edge. His other hand holds his cell phone tersely to his ear. Outside, Cas is bundled up in two layers of sweaters and his stupid hat from last year, watching the faint snow fall and melt the moment it hits the ground. He’s waiting on Dean to bring out hot chocolate and watch the snow fall with him.

Sam is silent on the other end of the line, so quiet that Dean checks the screen to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. It hasn’t.

“Sam,” Dean barks, and he hears Sam sigh.

“I said nothing would change between  _us,_  Dean,” Sam says evenly, “and that’s true. You’re my brother and there’s no one more important than you – but it’s kind of unrealistic to think that  _nothing_  would change.”

Dean snorts.

“Whatever. Spend Thanksgiving with strangers – hell, spend Christmas with them, too. Spend every goddamn holiday with those people, get in real good with those rich sons of bitches. Me and Cas? We’ll be fine without you.”

“Dean –  _Dean._ ‘Those people’? Those are my in-laws. My wife’s _family_. So watch how you talk about them.”

Dean can’t help but laugh, bitter and hollow, shaking his head slightly although Sam can’t see it.

“Unbelievable.”

Sam’s ensuing broody silence is clearly indicative of an attempt to send him a bitchface through the phone. 

“You’re in no place to say anything about them,” Sam adds after a moment of them both quietly seething. “After that stunt you pulled at my wedding –”

“You’re seriously going to bring that up?”

“Yeah, Dean, I am. I wasn’t gonna. But I am now. What the hell, man? I can’t believe they even still ask how you’re doing! And poor Cas, how could you –”

“Cas is fine,” Dean all but hisses, clamping his teeth down on the word. “We’re fine.” They have all successfully danced around this issue for weeks now, and Dean is perfectly happy with it staying that way.

“You didn’t even apologize, did you?” Sam asks, sounding cocky and sure of his brother’s ineptitude, and Dean wishes his brother was here in the flesh so he could punch him in the face. He wants to say ‘ _yeah actually, I did, asshole’_  – but that would mean admitting he was wrong, and it was hard enough doing that once. Besides, _he’s_  the one that’s being slighted here. Somehow Sam has managed to make this about him, and he quickly points this out.

“Whatever, Mr. High and Mighty. Let me know how that high-class turkey goes with the caviar, will you?”

“I would, if I thought you could hear me with your head in your ass,” Sam snaps back, and Dean cuts the line because he knows from experience that shouting at the phone isn’t going to help. He glares at the phone in his palm for a moment before finally glancing up. He starts at the sight of Cas, who has soundlessly entered the room who knows how long ago.

“Hot chocolate doesn’t take that long,” Cas says, as though he realizes his unexpected presence requires explanation. “And I got cold waiting.” He certainly  _looks_  cold; his nose and cheeks are rosy and his lips are chapped, which is a pretty permanent state by this time of year. Dean wishes he’d been outside cuddling next to Cas with some hot chocolate, keeping each other warm, rather than having this stupid conversation with Sam.

“How much did you hear?” Dean asks, shutting off his phone in case Sam calls back. It may not be the high road as far as maturity goes, but Dean never was the more mature brother.

“Only that Sam and Sarah will not be joining us for Thanksgiving,” Cas says, and the hilarity of the situation finally strikes Dean. A year ago, they never even _celebrated_ holidays, and now they’re fighting over them. He doesn’t laugh, though, because it’s not that kind of funny and he still feels sick with bitterness. He must look as tense as he feels, must be projecting the tautness in his shoulders, because Cas’ expression is gentle and once he’s crossed the small room, he wraps his arms tight around Dean’s waist.

“I’ll speak with Sarah,” Cas says, which surprises Dean. He had expected Cas to gently try to convince him that he’s wrong or something, like he always does. Dean hates to admit it, but Cas really knows how to handle him. It occurs to him, though, that Sam is treading on holiday turf here, which is Cas’ domain – it makes sense that Cas might not take well to the idea of letting go of such a family-oriented holiday. Den inwardly fistpumps because, seriously? Cas is  _never_ on his side against Sam. It’s practically a miracle.

“Good luck,” Dean says, trying to play it off like the outcome doesn’t matter to him.

“Later, though. Right now the milk you were heating for our hot chocolate is boiling and I think there’s a channel airing Avengers, which I’d like to watch.”

Dean’s face lights up, Sam’s betrayal momentarily forgotten.

“Nice! Scarlet Johansson’s in that with guns in a skin tight suit.”

Cas frowns.

“I’m going to ignore that,” he grumbles, and Dean can’t help but kiss the stupid attempt to hide a pout right off his face.

*

The air is filled with the potent aroma of laundry detergent and fabric softener, accented by the steady whirr of laundry machines. Dean sits atop one of them in their local laundromat, thighs heated by the warm metal and body shaking slightly as the washer goes into the spin cycle. He’s facing the big window at the shop front, where Cas is outside with his phone to his ear, snug in a hideous blue Thanksgiving sweater that features an orange cornucopia spilling vegetables. His cheeks are tinted pink because it’s cold out, and his brow is wrinkled in concentration over however his current conversation is going.

Another patron of the laundromat clears her throat loudly, and points at the  _‘Please Do Not Sit On Machines’_ sign located directly behind Dean. Dean doesn’t pin her as an employee – he can see her laundry from where he is – so he ignores her with a smile. She looks like she’s debating on saying something specifically, but then Cas walks in and Dean hops off the dryer, meeting Cas halfway with outstretched arms. He draws him close and kisses the angel’s nose because he’s clearly cold, and Dean just catches the sound of the woman huffing in annoyance. She’s gone by the time they let go, and Dean counts it as a victory.

“What’s the verdict?” Dean asks, sizing Cas up and trying to get a feel for the news he’s about to receive. Cas was just on the phone with Sarah, trying to coerce them over for Thanksgiving. Dean had been expected success from Cas, considering how he and Sarah are so close, but Cas’ expression has him second-guessing himself. The other man’s brow is still knit and his shoulders look slightly slumped, as though he’s recently accepted defeat.

“Sarah and Sam will not be joining us next Thursday,” Cas tells him, tone impassive. Dean hears himself suck in a breath and feels the way his jaw sets and his back stiffens. He’s instantly pissed, both at his brother and sister-in-law and in  _himself_  for daring to hope that they might change their mind, for  _caring_  if they do in the first place.

“Figures,” he spits out, turning as one of the washers signals its completion. “I bet they’re ducking out of Christmas, too.

“Dean,” Cas says, but Dean’s lost in his head already. He aggressively yanks the washer door open, staring at the dark and damp mess of sweaters and t-shirts.

“Hell, why not?” Dean goes on, yanking a water-heavy sweater from the machine. “They’re married now, clearly one family’s more important.”

“Dean,” Cas attempts again, and is ignored.

“Whatever, we don’t need them. We’ll have a damn good Thanksgiving –  _and_ Christmas – all by ourselves. Sam can go –”

“ _Dean!_ ” Cas snaps, touching Dean’s shoulder, and finally catches Dean’s attention. Cas sighs and shakes his head a little fondly, gently moving forward and slipping his arms around Dean’s waist to calm him. “Sarah and Sam will be coming this Thursday – tomorrow – in lieu of coming on Thanksgiving. And they  _will_ be with us for Christmas. All of us are going to spend the holiday at Bobby’s.”

Dean stares at Cas long and hard for a moment, at a loss for words.

Finally he asks, “Wait – but why’d you look so sad when you got off the phone?”

Cas looks away, eyes focusing off somewhere behind Dean’s head.

“Sarah insisted that she make the turkey.”

 Dean can’t help himself – he laughs, features clouded with incredulity as he takes this in. The laugh tapers off into a fond smile, and he ruffles a hand through Cas’ hair.

“So you were pouting because you have one less thing to bake,” Dean says, eyebrows raised. Cas wrinkles his nose.

“‘Pouting’ is not the term I would use…” he says sheepishly, and Dean can’t help but tug him close for a kiss.

“It was definitely pouting,” Dean says cheerfully, because he’s  _happy_ ; he still gets Thanksgiving with his brother, has been promised Christmas with his whole family, and his boyfriend is pink-faced and sweater-clad, huffing in that way of his – everything is as it should be. On top of all this, they’re getting a glare from the uppity woman across the room, whom Dean has just pinned as their stuffy Republican neighbor. The realization of this makes Dean grin devilishly, and he takes Cas off guard by kissing him again, parting the other man’s lips with his tongue in a brazen show with full intent of irritating or otherwise discomforting their evil neighbor.

“Dean,” Cas says firmly when their lips part, mouths hovering close together. “We’re in public.”

“Then maybe we should go  _home_  and continue,” Dean says, voice low, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Cas tracks the movement with his eyes, swallowing hard, but after a moment of staring at Dean’s lips, he shakes his head.

“When we’re done with the laundry, we need to go grocery shopping immediately. I have been caught completely unawares; Thanksgiving has reached us much sooner than anticipated.”

Dean groans.

“You’re killing me here,” he grumbles, which Cas rolls his eyes at.

“You won’t be saying that once you smell my apple pie,” he says dismissively, which makes Dean’s face light up considerably.

“Fair enough,” he says, “but after that, I’d really like you to fuck me.”

Cas visibly  _shivers_ at that, and Dean feels a surge of pride at having brought that about.

“I’d like that,” Cas all but croaks.

Dean just smiles and kisses him again.

*

The kitchen is full of the smell of desserts, pie and cake and a strange type of pudding Dean’s never seen before, which Cas has informed him he intends to  _set on fire_ tomorrow. He claims it’s some kind of British tradition, though one typically employed for Christmas, considering the English don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. Dean’s a little wary of setting fire to food – and a dessert, no less – but by now he’s learned to put total trust in Cas’ cooking abilities.

Cas takes care of everything that can easily be reheated the following day without sacrificing its flavor, opting to prepare the mashed potatoes and veggies tomorrow. Dean sits on the counter as Cas bustles around the kitchen preparing things. Cas looks equal parts dumb and adorable in his “Kiss the Cook” apron that features a rather unappealing looking cartoon turkey. It was a gift from Dean that Dean thinks he should regret buying… but doesn’t.

“Hurry up,” Dean whines petulantly, because he’d really like Cas to make good on that earlier promise as soon as possible.

“Baking is an art, Dean,” Cas says with a frown, “and it can’t be rushed.”

“Sex is also an art,” Dean points out. “And it should be rushed  _towards_.”

Cas sighs, rolls his eyes in a way that never fails to be awkward because there’s something about it that’s so  _angel,_  that is very obviously an attempt at encompassing a human gesture.

“I’m almost done, Dean,” Cas replies curtly. “If you can’t wait patiently, I’ll have to ask you to leave the kitchen.

Dean scoffs at this and looks around the kitchen for a form of retribution. He’s sitting next to the bowl of leftover apple pie filling, and dips his hands in it and throws a blob at Cas, smirking ear to ear as it pegs him on the shoulder. Cas’ eyes go wide and then they narrow, and Dean notices them dart quickly around the kitchen for something to counteract with. His hands are on the flour bag at the same time Dean scoops up more filling, and it’s not long before an all-out food fight occurs, ingredients soaring through the air, dirtying them both thoroughly in the process. The unbaked pies lay forgotten on the counter.

The sound of the oven beeping loudly to announce that it is done preheating cuts into their messy war, and Cas shoots Dean a warning look as he reaches for the pies. Dean, not one to mess around when it comes to baked goods, obediently lays off. He waits no later than the moment the oven is closed, though, to pounce on Cas, slipping his arms around Cas’ waist from behind and bringing his lips to Cas’ ear. Cas whimpers just slightly, and Dean can  _feel_ the shiver that runs through the other man’s body.

“We’re dirty,” Cas comments quietly, and Dean splays a hand along his lower stomach, chuckling darkly. Cas lays his head backward against Dean’s shoulder.

“We should get cleaned up,” Dean whispers into Cas’ ear, before mouthing at his neck. Cas takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I’d like that.”

And before Dean knows what’s happening, Cas has turned around and is on him, all warm chapped lips and eager hands, supple body gliding against Dean’s. Dean gasps and then laughs at the suddenness of it, pleased at Cas’ spontaneity and eager for more. He finds himself crowded up against the nearest kitchen wall within seconds, Cas slotting himself in where he fits, where he was probably  _built_ to fit, with one leg between Dean’s and the other hitched up slightly to draw him closer.

Cas tastes like apple pie filling, and with it smeared in his hair and sticking to his clothes, he smells like it, too. The slick, wet weight of Cas’ tongue in Dean’s mouth is that much more appealing when the taste is igniting Dean’s senses with now  _two_ things Dean associates with happiness. Cas and pie. Dean’s pretty much hit the lottery.

Dean’s arms are wrapped tight around Cas’ waist and their bodies are flush against each other, hips working steadily like they’re fucking with their clothes on. They’re shedding layers soon enough, though, and Dean’s not even sure whose shirt hits the ground first, only that the feel of Cas’ firm nipples against his chest is giving him one hell of a hard on.

Before Dean’s hands can find the fly of Cas’ jeans, Cas is sliding down his body slowly, licking stripes all the way as he sinks to his knees. Dean’s head slams hard against the wall because he  _knows_  what’s coming and suddenly his skin is alive and screaming for it.

“Fuck, Cas,” he gasps, chest heaving and eyes squeezed shut. He hears the zip of his pants, loud in the quiet of the kitchen, and makes a small noise that is definitely _not_  a squeak. Cas responds with what sounds suspiciously like a  _snicker_.

“Actually,” he says as he unceremoniously tugs Dean’s pants and boxers down to his thighs, exposing Dean’s erection and earning a choked moan from Dean. “I would like you to fuck my mouth, please.”

The way Cas looks up at him with dark, expectant eyes that are so damn  _hopeful_ , like he’s asking for a Christmas present or something, is one of the hottest things Dean’s ever seen. One hand grips loosely at Cas’ hair, alternately grabbing fistfuls of it and loosening his grip, smoothing down what he’s tousled.

“Are you sure?” Dean asks – because no matter how many times they do this, no matter how many times Cas sinks to his knees and begs for Dean to thrust into his mouth, Dean can’t help but make  _sure_. While it’s definitely on Dean’s Top Ten Greatest Sexual Experiences, he can’t help but think that if he’d hate to have it done to him _self_. He can clearly picture choking in the process, and knows for a fact he could never enjoy giving a blowjob where there was a possibility he could start gagging halfway through.

Cas, however, has no such issue. Dean will never not be impressed at Cas’ inexplicable, seemingly heaven-sent lack of a gag reflex. He could deep-throat way back when he was just learning the mechanics of blowjobs, and Dean’s never  _seen_ someone get off on having a cock rammed into their throat quite like Cas. His wanton noises and blissed out expressions are half the ride that makes blowjobs from Cas ten times better than any others Dean has ever had in his life. Cas is always arguably more into it that Dean himself – which, wow. That’s saying something.

Cas gives him the same annoyed, impatient glare he always does when Dean asks this, and responds by backing himself into the wall and forcibly guiding Dean around so that Cas is essentially pinned between Dean and the wall, kneeling between Dean’s legs. His eyes aren’t even on Dean anymore; instead he’s staring at the throbbing flesh between Dean’s legs like it’s killing him not to have a taste. When Cas finally looks up at Dean, his tongue darts out and wets his lips in a way that is just fucking _obscene_ and Dean knows when to accept consent when he sees it.

“Please, Dean, can I…?” Cas whispers, voice scratchy, and Dean shuts his eyes, tilts his head back a moment to steady himself before nodding and forcing his eyes open so that he can look at Cas. Cas  _smiles_ , then, dark and dirty, and Dean has to force himself not to come on the spot.

Cas doesn’t break eye contact as he slips his mouth around Dean’s dick, gripping the base and pulling him in as deep as possible. Dean throws his head back, hitting it harder than intended against the wall, panting heavily. He’s quickly lost in the white hot suction of Cas’ porn star mouth, forgets to think about the words coming out of his own mouth as he babbles encouragement and praise.

He nearly whimpers when Cas’ mouth leaves his dick.

“Dean,” Cas hisses irritably, “move your hips. Push into me. Do what I’ve asked and fuck my mouth.”

Dean takes a heaving breath to steady himself and try to regain rational thought. He forces open his eyes again and finds Cas looking as desperate and needy as he probably looks himself and, yeah, okay, Dean needs to stop tripping himself out about this because Cas  _seriously_ gets off on it.

He hooks a leg over Cas’ shoulder so he has better leverage to give Cas exactly what he wants, and Cas’ eyes go big and wide with an obscene kind of eagerness that has Dean’s blood running hot. Cas opens his mouth wide and Dean pushes in, pumping his hips and essentially thrusting into the other man’s mouth. He can  _feel_  Cas moaning around his dick more than he can hear it, and Cas’ hands press against his ass, pulling him in every time. It’s burning and it’s electric and Dean’s sweating and cursing, blissed out and incoherent. Cas’ free hand slides up and down Dean’s thigh and back up to his ass, adding yet another sensation to the overwhelming sensory overload that’s taking over his brain and his body.

He comes gasping down Cas’ throat, waves of pleasure coursing through his system and making his whole body shake. It feels like it’s been punched out of him, like Cas has wrung him dry and left him tingling all over, every nerve in his body singing. And Cas – Cas just swallows it down like it’s the best taste in the world, nails digging into the back of Dean’s thigh.

Cas is up Dean’s body in a flash, kissing him with Dean’s own salty taste on his lips. He grinds hard against Dean, the denim of his jeans creating friction against Dean’s over-sensitized cock that probably isn’t very gratifying for either of them. Dean halts Cas in his somewhat frenzied ravaging of Dean’s mouth by bringing his mouth to Cas’ ear.

“I think we should go get you cleaned up,” Dean whispers, voice raw, and Cas’ full body shudder is clearly felt by both.

The trip from the kitchen to the bathroom is blessedly short, because the way Cas’ eyes have become dark as coal with only thin rims of blue circling the lust-blown pupils make it clear that Cas is riding the edge and wants to get off desperately. Dean bends over to turn on the shower and Cas is at his back as he sets the temperature to something steamy and almost too hot. Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and sucks at the back of his neck, tented jeans pressed against his ass.

Dean takes the pleasure of finally fully disrobing Cas, tugging down his pants and sliding his hands down Cas’ legs in the process. Cas wobbles on his feet, first with apparent overwhelming sensation and then as he tries to kick off his jeans from around his ankles. Dean pulls them both into the shower and backs himself against the shower wall in a clear invitation for Cas to do whatever he wants. Cas, as per usual, is not one to pass up such an open offer.

Cas spares no time in crowding up in Dean’s personal space, latching his mouth to Dean’s neck and sucking what will probably be a bright and blooming hickey to the skin there. Water sprays down from the showerhead over both of them, making their skin wet and slippery. Dean’s hands scramble for purchase of Cas’ back, nails sliding across flesh as he tries to hold on. Cas’ tongue works his neck like it’s something malleable, making Dean whimper and gasp. Cas lines their bodies up and grids against Dean, who’d give pretty much anything for a faster recovery time right about now. He feels sensitive and overstimulated, but  _fuck_  if it doesn’t feel amazing.

Cas hikes Dean’s leg up around his waist, holding it in place with one hand while he quickly slips fingers from the other hand inside Dean, stretching him out. The showerhead is pointed directly at them, angled here already because it’s since been proven to be tried and true. The pouring water cascading down Dean’s body is ample lube for Cas’ nimble fingers to prep Dean, and he’s got Dean arching and cursing in moments. Cas toys with Dean’s prostate once he’s found it to the point where Dean can feel his dick trying to twitch with interest – which, wow, that’s one holy hell of an accomplishment.

“I’m ready,” Dean says hoarsely, once the teasing’s gotten to the point of driving him a little crazy. Even with multiple fingers, the pressure just can’t compare to how properly  _full_  he feels when Cas is inside him. Cas can clearly sense Dean’s desperation, because the dark chuckle he lets out at Dean’s words is nothing short of sadistic. Dean thrusts upwards a little in retaliation, earning a satisfyingly wanton moan from Cas. Cas stops fooling around then and seems to get the picture, because he readjusts his hold on Dean once more and then pushes in.

Water streams over their bodies and their mouths collide as Cas thrusts into Dean, free hand gripping the back of Dean’s neck tightly. Dean’s nails are scraping along Cas’ back harshly enough that Cas will probably feel it for days, but he rests assured knowing that Cas loves that sort of thing. Dean’s never seen Cas wince in pain without smirking directly after if it has something to do with how Dean’s marked him up during sex. Their chests are pressed close and they’ve only got eyes for each other every time their mouths part.

By the time Cas comes, body shaking as he moans Dean’s name into his mouth, Dean’s full mast and aching again. Cas lets Dean’s leg drop and he slumps against him, but not without taking Dean’s dick in hand and pumping him toward yet another mind-blowing orgasm. He mouths lazily at Dean’s neck as he works, kissing rather than sucking, and chuckles happily when he feels Dean seize up beneath him and warm liquid decidedly different than shower water sliding through his fingers.

Dean and Cas stay in the shower until the hot water runs out and towel each other off, ruffling each other’s hair and making it stand on end. Cas has more hair than Dean and accordingly looks more ridiculous – and more adorable, if Dean’s being honest. The sight of Cas, pruny-fingered from so much shower time and smiling stupidly has Dean feeling stupidly fuzzy. He kisses Cas’ nose just because, and is surprised that he’s not at all embarrassed when Cas does the same.

They spend the rest of the evening alternately lounging around and pawing at each other, cuddling until cuddling becomes groping, then having sex, and back around again. They’re both feeling warm and a little silly in the afterglow of so much sex, and Dean finds himself grinning constantly, against Cas’ skin and into their every kiss, pleased that Cas is just as smiley. Early evening fades into night, and it’s been dark for several hours by the time Dean’s exhausted enough to call it a night with the more physically active aspect of their evening.

Cas is in bed with a book, blankets pulled up around him, clearly transfixed with whatever he’s reading. Dean’s on the edge of the bed leaning in toward the TV, watching the last of the Eagles game he prerecorded on Monday and forgot about. They’re doing terribly, as usual, and Dean starts wondering for the millionth time why he even roots for these talentless sons of bitches. The fact that he does it because it’s his local team and that he does it out of loyalty to his area dawns on him, and it’s a weird thought to digest. Someone fails to intercept the ball – again – and Dean’s distracted from his thoughts enough to shout at the TV. Cas chuckles fondly and Dean turns around and sticks his tongue out at him.

Cas’ phone vibrates announcing texts regularly, and the man looks equal parts fond and irritated at getting interrupted from his book every time. He sort of wrinkles his nose, just slightly, every time it buzzes, but smiles as he writes the response.

“Who are you talking to, Mr. Popular?” Dean asks with a smile, reaching for the remote and clicking off the TV, which is just plain disappointing at this point.

“Sarah,” Cas says. “She says she is bored – she used several r’s when she wrote that.” Cas makes a face, like he will never understand why Sarah or anyone else would choose to intentionally repeat letters in a text message.

“Seriously? Surely they have, like, newlywed shit to do. What are they up to?”

Cas taps away at his phone, which he’s gotten surprisingly good at using, right under Dean’s nose.

“She says that Sam is reading and she is watching football from Monday night. In her words, ‘Sam is no fun.’ She also says that she misses us and cannot wait to see us tomorrow.”

“Huh,” Dean says, smile playing at the edges of his lips. He finds it incredibly weird to know that his brother and his wife are just like Dean and Cas.  It’s not bad weird, though. “Tell her I feel her pain and can’t wait to complain about our no-fun partners together tomorrow.”

Cas frowns at that, but dutifully responds. Dean reaches past Cas and grabs the book lying bookmarked beside him. He gently places it on their nightstand and clicks off the light.

“Tell her goodnight, let’s go to sleep,” Dean says, burying his face in his pillow and tugging the blankets over himself. Cas huffs, but a moment later the light from his phone has gone out and he’s placing it on the nightstand and situating himself beside Dean under the covers. He wastes no time in spooning Dean, tugging him close and burying his face in the back of Dean’s neck. Dean laces two of their hands together and they lay like that, quiet for a while, teetering on the edge of sleep.

Dean’s eyes have been closed quite some time, nearly asleep, when he feels Cas bite sharply at the spot where his shoulder meets his neck, and then suck at the skin there.

“Jesus Christ, Cas, what are you, 17?” Dean half-groans, already totally on board with this despite having just been seconds away from sleep a moment ago. He shifts so that he’s facing Cas, whose eyes are wide, adjusting to the dark. Cas tilts his head slightly into the pillow, brow knit in confusion.

“Dean, you know that my age far exc – ”

“Yeah yeah, centuries old ex-angel, got it. It’s a figure of speech. It means your libido’s in overdrive, dude. We’ve been at it all day,” he says, but he can’t fight the smirk dancing its way across his lips.

“Once more,” Cas says, like a kid asking to go on a merry-go-round just  _one_ more time. Like Dean would be at all disinclined to say yes.

“Hell yes,” Dean says, and he sighs deeply as their lips clash yet again.

Dean really, really likes what his life has become. 

*

Dean wakes the following morning to an empty bed and the oh-so-familiar smell of food cooking from the kitchen. He is at once dismayed at Cas’ absence and pleased by the prospect of being fed, and he lays staring at the ceiling for a moment, trying to will himself to get up. A quick glance at their bedside clock tells him that it’s almost noon; that knowledge and the combination of what sounds like music playing in the kitchen is what finally gets Dean up, tugging on a pair of sweaters before walking sleepily over to find Cas. As he gets closer, though, he realizes what the indistinct sounds are and he stops in his tracks at the entrance of the kitchen. Cas is facing away from Dean and hasn’t noticed him, so Dean gets a chance to revel in this little moment.

Cas is singing along to the radio. And it’s not some song that Dean has taught Cas or anything Cas would have chosen on his own, as far as Dean knows; it’s just some cheesy pop that’s been playing since the holidays rolled around. Cas’ low, quiet voice sounds at odds with the young guy singing.

“ _You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs. But I look around me and I see it isn't so,”_ Cas hums along under his breath.  _“Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs.”_  Dean’s entire body  _aches_ with the need to laugh, because this is friggin hilarious, completely out of character – but he can’t laugh, not even if he wanted to, because Cas looks so damn at peace with something like a smile twitching at the edges of his lips. He cracks an egg into a bowl and whisks it, looking out the kitchen window as he does so.

“ _And what's wrong with that? I'd like to know_ ,” he sings, and his voice lilts up with the singer’s, even though Cas’ voice really, really doesn’t do that. Cas definitely can’t sing; it sounds awkward at best and Dean’s overwhelmingly happy that he got to catch this little moment of Cas’, because he’s that much more in love with the guy for it. Dean tiptoes into the kitchen as quietly as he can, willing Cas’ back to stay turned away from him. Dean successfully reaches his boyfriend undetected and wraps his arms around his waist just in time to sing,

“ _I love you,_ ” in time with the dumb, overly catchy pop music. Cas goes still all over, muscles tense, mouth silent.

“You’re awake,” he finally comments, shoulders still stiff. Dean presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, and he seems to relax a bit, though he reaches for the stereo and turns the volume down low.

“Cas… what are you listening to?”

Cas sets the bowl of eggs on the counter and then shifts in Dean’s arms and hugs him tight, pressing their lips together in a slow kiss that ends in a smile.

“It… I don’t know, it just came on the radio,” Cas says awkwardly, and Dean can’t fight the huge, smug smirk on his face because Cas is an awful liar. He glances at the stereo, which tells the artist and song in scrolling marquee in bright capital letters. Dean’s jaw drops.

“This is – Cas, this is  _Glee_. Cas. Did you realize that you are listening to a song from  _Glee?_ ”

 Cas tries to look defiant despite how his face is turning red.

“It’s not my usual choice, as you well know. It just… suited my mood, this morning. I woke up very happy.” Dean’s eyebrows arch up, still skeptical because this is _Glee_ we’re talking about here. Cas notes this skepticism and sighs.

“It’s just a very good day to be in love, I think,” he says finally, shyly looking at Dean’s freckles instead of his eyes. Dean’s mouth opens just the slightest bit at that, and he chews the inside of his cheek, speechless. Neither of them are big on sentiment and “I love you”s. He opts for humor instead.

“Jeez, Cas, is this leftover afterglow from last night?” he asks playfully, and Cas cracks a smile, meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” he concedes with a quiet chuckle. He shrugs himself out of Dean’s hold so he can go back to whisking eggs, and Dean pours himself a cup of coffee and automatically sets their tea kettle to start boiling water for Cas’ tea. It’s a routine they’ve been following for months now, whenever they have enough time to make breakfast before work. Cas is usually the one cooking, but Dean will help how he can – setting the table, turning on water for tea, making toast, things like that. They work like a little unit in the kitchen with the sort of ease that would imply they’ve been doing this for years.

Cas adds the eggs to the frying pan and moves on to preparing other things while that cooks. He’s currently trimming cauliflower, and there’s something in the oven already that smells delicious, though Dean can’t make out what it is. He eyes a pile of potatoes on a counter, awaiting washing and peeling.

“Need help?” he asks, gesturing to the potatoes.

Cas tilts his head, looking from Dean to the potatoes in confusion as though the question has been asked in a foreign language. After a moment, he nods.

“Yes, thank you Dean. That would be well appreciated.”

Cas reaches in a drawer, probably going for a potato peeler or something, but Dean hops up on the counter and starts peeling with his pocket knife, snagged from amongst fake veggies in the cornucopia centerpiece on their kitchen table. Cas frowns at him, like he’s trying to figure out why he should protest their food being peeled with Dean’s knife, but ultimately he doesn’t seem to deign it worth mentioning. Dean figures the guy wouldn’t have had reason to, anyway; he always washes the monster innards off when he’s done with the knife.

They both become quietly absorbed in food preparation after that, though it’s not long until they’re interrupted by breakfast. Cas, as usual, has outdone himself with overflowing plates, and Dean thinks it’s a damn good thing that he works out because he’d be putting on weight fast living with Cas. They sit together, side by side, at their tiny kitchen table, shoulders bumping as they eat.

“So when are Sam and Sarah headed over?” Dean asks between bites of bacon and hash browns.

“Around 3,” Cas replies. Cas has, blessedly, never mentioned Dean’s awful table manners. He seems to be oblivious to them, which is probably a perk of being not-quite-human, which Dean is infinitely grateful. Cas himself never models Dean’s bad form with eating, though, which leads Dean to wonder if Cas knows it’s impolite and just doesn’t care. Either way, Dean counts himself lucky.

“Wait – why so early? And don’t we have work tonight?” Dean asks skeptically.

“They are coming early because we all have work in the morning, and Sam has class. I’ve already called and had our shifts switched. You and I work double tomorrow.”

Dean groans.

“Hate working double,” he mutters ruefully, but Cas cuts him off by gently grabbing his jaw.

“It will be worth it,” he says firmly. When Dean doesn’t look convinced, Cas adds, “I’ll ask Jayne to bring Lyric and eat at one of your tables tomorrow, our treat. Sound good?”

Dean brightens almost immediately, despite himself.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

They go back to food prepping once they’ve finished eating and have cleared away their plates. They work in affable silence, the sound of soft classic rock playing on the radio doing the talking for them. Cas sets something boiling on the stove that Dean’s only half aware of; he’s mostly lost in his own thoughts, carving potatoes on autopilot. Once they’re peeled, Cas gently takes the knife from Dean’s hands and places it on the counter.

“Go get a shower and get dressed,” Cas tells him. “I’ll finish here.”

“Join me?” Dean asks hopefully, but Cas just kisses his lips and shakes his head.

“I have to finish up here. I can’t do with your… distractions, right now. I’ll burn the food.”

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes as he gets up and heads out of the kitchen.

“If you hear me moaning, it’s because I’m thinking of you,” Dean adds coyly with a wink as he’s leaving. He doesn’t wait for Cas’ reaction, but he thinks he hears Cas respond with a satisfying little yelp. He smirks to himself as he heads to the bathroom, picturing Cas alone in the kitchen, flustered and cursing his cooking for keeping him away from Dean.

*

Dean wears a white button-up shirt and a pair of khakis for the occasion, because Cas says that Sarah requested they all dress “verging on formal but not really.” Cas, on his part, has ignored this entirely and is wearing a maroon sweater that says “GIVE THANKS” and features a turkey with extremely bright, eyesore feathers in an array of autumn colors.  It’s one of Cas’ more hideous sweaters, and Dean kind of wants to light it on fire and be thankful for the blaze that torches it out of existence. He loves Cas more than he hates the sweater, though, and within an hour it’s no longer irritating or even noticeable.

The house is warm and cozy from the combined heat of the oven and their cheesy fireplace from last year, which has officially been brought out for the rest of the winter. Dean draws faces in the condensation on the window every time he goes to check if Sam and Sarah have arrived, which is more often than Dean would care to admit. He can’t help himself; it’s been almost a month since he’s seen his brother and he misses him. He’s felt a weird sort of underlying anxiety whenever he thinks about Sam ever since the wedding that he’s desperately hoping will be at ease after tonight. Dean’s used to big fallouts and betrayals and drama, but marriage is a whole new ball game. The idea of Sam slowly slipping away from him because of it chills Dean to his core, though he knows that the fear is unfounded. Sarah’s the best catch Sam could have ever landed, and Dean couldn’t have chosen better if he’d hand-picked her himself. He knows she’s no threat to his relationship with Sam, but he worries nonetheless.

He sinks into the couch and closes his eyes, willing himself to relax and force his tense shoulders to go limp. He isn’t aware that Cas is nearby until the couch dips beside him and Cas settles in next to his side.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Cas asks quietly. Dean sighs.

“Nah,” he says offhandedly, and he’s saved from further conversation by the sound of Sarah’s telltale rhythmic knock at their door. Cas gestures for Dean to open the door and when he does so, he  _instantly_  feels that much better. Sarah’s grinning at him, pink-nosed and red-cheeked, swaddled up in a big burgundy scarf and matching hat. She gives him a big hug as soon as the door is open and he thinks he’s been being an idiot. Sam is beside her, bundled up with a hat and scarf of the same set but in green. He’s carrying a box of tissues close to his chest like they're his only lifeline.

“If it isn’t my two favorite newlyweds,” Dean says with a grin he can’t fight, beckoning them in.

“Hey, Dea –” Sam cuts himself off with a huge sneeze that is directly proportional to his colossal size that visibly startles Cas and makes Sarah laugh. He groans at the end of it, slumping into the couch as he shucks his hat and scarf and balls them up, burying his face in them.

“I take it Sasquatch is sick?” Dean asks Sarah with raised eyebrows. Sarah rolls her eyes dramatically.

“He has a  _cold_. He’s fine.”

“I’m going to die,” Sam mutters snuffily from behind his scarf.

“Maybe from a lethal dose of melodrama,” she deadpans, but her tone and expression are  clearly fond.

Cas collects Sarah’s coat, hat and scarf from her and she gives him a hug in the process, which he stiffly reciprocates, as always. Dean has watched so many of Cas’ weird otherworldly habits dissolve into humanity over the past year, but it’s always comforting to see little moments like this that remind him that Cas was once an angel. Cas might understand Star Wars references now and be able to catch up on the nonverbal nuances of a conversation, but he will probably always be stiff and awkward whenever he hugs anyone but Dean. For whatever reason, Dean’s proud of that knowledge.

Once greetings have been exchanged and outer layers have been shed and stored away in the coat closet, Cas wanders off to the kitchen to make tea for Sam. Dean’s not sure what he was so worried about, because it’s  _Sarah_  who gets the conversation going with an anecdote about something that had happened at an art show that week. The story transitions into conversation easily, no stress or thought about it, and Dean finally feels himself relax.

Cas returns with tea for Sam and snuggles in beside Dean, silently participating in the conversation like he always done, clearly involved just by how attentive he is. Sam’s in the middle of a (very common, judging by the look on Sarah’s face) tyrade about one of his professors when Cas frowns and looks around, brow knit in confusion.

“… Uh, Castiel?” Sam asks, distracted by Cas’ distraction.

“Where is the turkey?” Cas asks, and the look of realization on Sarah’s face has Dean thinking they must have forgotten it at home. Thankfully, it’s the wrong conclusion.

“It’s in the back! I completely forgot about it, we have it so covered… We wanted it to stay warm, so it’s in the back seat. We wrapped the roasting pan in foil, inside heated towels, inside a box, which we wrapped in a blanket. I completely forgot about it.”

Dean’s gotta admit, he’s impressed by the foresight. He would have just stuck it in the oven when he arrived… but he figures there’s some sort of unwritten cooking laws or something that prohibit that. Dean’s not the expert here.

“Me and Cas will bring it in – not you, Sam.” Sam, who was just starting to stand up, reluctantly sits back down, looking skeptical. “You’re sick. I don’t want your germs all over my dinner.”

Dean and Cas bring the turkey – which is significantly larger than is necessary for just the four of them – into the house and into the kitchen, where Cas sets it up on a serving dish. He and Dean go through the process of carrying various dishes to the small room connected to the kitchen that can only loosely be described as a dining room. Dean carries in plates and utensils; Cas brings in cups and napkins. The table is quickly set between the two of them, and Dean doesn’t hesitate a second once the last thing’s been placed on the table to loudly summon in his brother and sister-in-law.

“This is quite a spread,” Sarah comments with a grin, eyebrows high in surprise and delight. Sam also seems taken aback by how much food Dean and Cas (well, mostly Cas) have managed to churn out. Dean’s almost offended by their incredulity, for Cas’ sake. It’s not like Cas doesn’t always deliver when it comes to food.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Cas,” Sam says between sniffles, and Cas smiles softly, a little ball of pride and contentment. Dean leans in close and ruffles his boyfriend’s hair affectionately, pleased with the happy light in Cas’ eyes.

Everyone takes their places around the table, with Cas almost uncomfortably close to Dean, as usual.

“I’ll carve the turkey,” Dean announces, just as Sam starts to say something. Sam’s ensuing face is some combination of a pout and a bitch face, which makes Dean grin even though he’s not entirely sure what it’s for.

“I wanted to carve the turkey, Dean,” he says petulantly, throat raspy from his cold.

“No way, little brother. You’ll probably sneeze all over it,” Dean replies, dismissively, but Sam snags the carving knife before Dean has a chance to.

“Dean, we made the turkey! I should get to cut it,” Sam says, lower lip puckering.

“Actually,” Sarah interjects, slipping the knife from Sam’s hand, “ _I_  made the turkey, so I’ll be the one carving it, thank you very much.”

Neither Sam nor Dean can come up with an acceptable rebuttal to this argument, so they both slump back in their seats, Sam sniffling sullenly and Dean grumbling under his breath. Sarah pointedly serves Cas first, winking at him as she does. Cas tilts his head, clearly confused by the gesture, and Dean can’t help but laugh and roll his eyes.

Once everyone’s heaped up their plates with servings of food, Dean holds his breath because he knows, logically, what comes next – the typical TV family prayer over dinner. He’s dreading it like it’s poison waiting to be drizzled over his meal, wonders how screwed up it would be if he protested. He knows that they’re going for the typical family holiday and that this is a section of their life that’s supposed to be normal… but the idea of giving thanks to some unknowable douchebag probably-nonexistent deity makes him sick to his stomach.

But the moment… never comes. Sarah digs into her food and, after an unsure moment, so do Sam and Cas. Dean looks around the table at everyone eating, stunned that the ritual of giving thanks on Thanksgiving seems to have been unanimously skipped. He smiles to himself before finally tucking in as well, enjoying every bite all the more in lieu of a mandatory declaration of thanks for it.

There’s a Giants vs. Eagles game on after they eat – ironically, the teams of Philadelphia and New York and either couple’s team, accordingly. Sarah and Dean are as into the game as can be as soon as it comes on, but Sam’s attention is divided with the law book he’s brought to study for a test tomorrow. Cas is helping him study, quizzing him in that monotone, expressionless way of his, and Dean can’t get over how nerdy the two of them are, doing schoolwork while the game’s on.

Still, despite their split attentions, there’s a sense of unity to the room that Dean hadn’t realized he missed until now. Even after all this time, things still feel most right when he’s with his brother; Dean figures that’s something that will never change. He’s been trained since he was old enough to understand orders that things were only okay if Sam was within his line of vision. It’s not exactly something that’s easily unlearned. But that feeling of rightness has expanded to include Cas and even Sarah, too, now. Dean figures that’s something, at least.

Around the end of third quarter, Sam and Cas call it quits with their studying and crowd onto the couch with Dean and Sarah. The couch is just big enough that no one’s unintentionally in anyone’s personal space, though Cas is nestled in tight beside Dean of his own accord and Sam has him arm draped around Sarah, pulling her close. Dean, Sarah and Sam spend the remainder of the game shouting at their teams when they screw up and cheering wildly when they score. Cas watches them all fondly, but otherwise seems completely unconcerned with the outcome of the game. He does have the decency to high five Dean when the other man falls out of his seat shouting excitedly when the Eagles win by the thinnest margin possible.

All too soon it seems, the evening has run on long past Sam and Sarah’s initial intended time of departure. Dean offers to have them spend the night a few more times than is technically necessary, but he aches to see them go. They all have responsibilities, though, hours and miles apart. Dean has to concede to settling for extra-long, tight hugs for both his brother and sister-in-law before they go, bundled up and saddled down leftovers.

Dean stands at the doorway watching them drive off and stays there even after they’ve turned the corner, staring absently into the night. He jumps when he feels Cas’ hand on the small of his back.

“You’re letting in the cold, Dean,” he says quietly, tiny smile quirking at one edge of his mouth.

“Yeah – sorry,” Dean says, letting Cas guide him in and closing the door behind him. Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and pulls him tight, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lips.

“I’m glad they came,” Cas comments, and for some reason this sentiment puts it all into perspective. He misses his brother and Sarah already, yeah, but… that’s not the point. The point is the time they’ve had together. He realizes it’s a quality over quantity situation in this case, and that maybe now’s the time to start getting over his little brother issues.

Dean’s grateful for tonight and grateful for the angel that, yet again, organized them all so that it would happen.

“Me too,” he says with a smile, cupping Cas’ face as he kisses him again.

*

The week between their makeshift Thanksgiving and the real, national holiday passes quickly and uneventfully. The temperature hovers consistently at the freezing mark, just cold enough that the weather forecasters caution the possibility of snow every day. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving it still hasn’t snowed, though the looming grey skies have Cas convinced it’s a matter of moments until it happens. He coerces Dean outside with him to wait for the snow to fall, and they end up walking around their neighborhood hand-in-hand, bundled up in hats, scarves and gloves. They don’t speak, just quietly enjoy each other’s company as the sun sets slowly behind the thick clouds.

The silence is shattered by the sound of Dean’s ringtone. He nearly ignores it in favor of honoring the tranquility, but curiosity has him checking the caller ID. When it turns out to be Jayne who’s calling, he changes his mind and answers instantly. Cas instinctively moves closer so that he can hear, too. It’s a habit he picked up automatically a long time ago because Dean hates repeating himself.

“Hey, Jayne,” Dean says with an easy smile that’s evident in his voice.

“Hey Dean,” Jayne replies with a heavy sigh that has Dean worried.

“Something wrong?” Dean asks, and Cas frowns, chewing his chapped bottom lip.

“Uh – well, I’m just calling to ask a lost minute favor of you guys… again.” It kills Dean that Jayne still always sounds so apologetic when she asks things of them. They’re all she’s got, and have long since become family in Dean’s eyes. He wishes she wouldn’t sound like it’s killing her every time she needs some help.

“Jayne. Anything, you know that,” Dean replies firmly, speaking for both himself and Cas because he knows they’re both on the same page, always, when it comes to Lyric and Jayne.

Jayne heaves another sigh, but this one sounds more relieved than anything else.

“You guys are lifesavers,” she says, “Do you think you could come pick Lyric up? It’d only be for… well, I don’t actually know how long.”

“Of course,” Dean says, and he and Cas both automatically turn and head back for the house. “Is something wrong?”

“No, everything’s fine,” she says with feigned lightheartedness that drops halfway through. “Well… it’s nothing I can’t figure out.”

“What happened?” Dean persists.

“The movers were supposed to move everything in today. Well, I thought they were, anyway...We got a late start because I was held up at work. They packed everything from the old place up smoothly enough, but when we got to the house they said they were behind schedule because I was late and pretty much just unloaded everything on the front lawn.  It’d be much easier for me to move everything if Lyric wasn’t asking me things every three minutes.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at the phone, though Jayne obviously can’t see it.

“Uh, and how exactly are you going to move all that stuff yourself? It’s already starting to get dark.” he asks skeptically, and Cas furrows his brow, upping their pace just the slightest bit. Jayne is silent for a moment.

“I… don’t know,” she admits finally. Dean rolls his eyes.

“We’re on our way,” he says, and he hears Jayne’s sharp intake of breath, though he’s sure she probably tried to stifle it.

“You’d do that?” she asks, clearly completely incredulous by the tone of her voice.

“Um, duh. You’re family, dude. It’s no problem at all.”

“Thank you so much,” she says, relief flooding through her voice. Dean smiles, and Cas’ pensive look relaxes a bit.

“Like I said, no problem. We’ll be over in 15 minutes.”

Dean hangs up the phone and Cas squeezes his hand, and Dean looks up to find Cas smiling.

“You’re a good man, Dean,” he tells him, and Dean has no idea what to do with that, so he just stops them for a moment and gives Cas a gentle kiss, one hand cradling his face.

“Let’s get going,” Dean says, lightheartedly evading the comment.

Cas just sighs contentedly and nods, and they walk the short distance home. They make sure to flip off their stuck-up Republican neighbor’s house on the way.

*

They bring in the table first so that Lyric has a place to color with Cas, who sits by her side and draws with her. At first he’s a little put off by Dean’s suggestion that he sit out while Dean and Jayne move things in, but Dean points out that only Jayne knows where things go and Lyric needs someone to keep her occupied. When Lyric’s eyes light up and she begs him to color with him, he relents. Once they’ve started coloring, he finally stops pouting at Dean.

It doesn’t take long until everything’s inside and in its respective places. Dean ogles at the house as they go, indescribably proud of Jayne for saving up for such a nice house. Lyric’s room is much larger than it was before, and there’s a big tree in the back that’s perfect for her tree house. Dean and Cas make plans to come over that weekend and start construction. They all sit around the kitchen table drinking tea and relaxing after an evening of hard work. Lyric has fallen asleep with her head on the table, mouth hanging open slightly.

“So what are you guys doing for Thanksgiving tomorrow?” Dean finds himself asking, and is not surprised by the evasive way Jayne looks away and chews her lip.

“It’s just me and Lyric,” she says with a shrug after a moment. Dean and Cas exchange looks and then Cas nods almost imperceptibly. Dean gets the message.

“We’d love to spend it with you, if you’d have us. We were gonna spend it by ourselves, too, anyway.”

Jayne brightens visibly, eyes widening. She runs a hand through her hair and grins.

“I’d love that! Although – I don’t know how to cook very well. We were just going to get a Boston Market dinner or something.”

This time, it’s Cas’ turn for his eyes to light up.

“Excellent. Leave the turkey to me,” he says eagerly, and Dean laughs and ruffles Cas’ hair affectionately.

“I’ll take care of the easy stuff if you guys get the turkey,” she says, clearly delighted by how cheesy wide her grin is and the way her shoulders have gone easy and relaxed.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean says happily.

By then it’s gotten relatively late, and Dean and Cas excuse themselves to go home. Dean drives home with one hand laced with Cas’, feeling warm and comfortable and completely at peace. He revels in the soft, warm flex of Cas’ fingers and hopes that his angel feels the same.

*

“You’re going to burn the house down, Cas.”

Deep fried turkeys are bad news, period. Dean’s heard countless horror stories of bad fires caused by the insane practice of boiling a holiday bird in oil, and Dean doesn’t care  _how_ careful Cas says he’ll be or how good it’ll taste; he hates this idea. Cas has been insisting and insisting all day, went as far as to get all the necessary preparations for it despite Dean’s pouting over it, and Dean’s resolve eventually slipped. Now, though, with the turkey, peanut oil and huge pot in tow in the backseat on the way to Lyric and Jayne’s place, Dean’s having second thoughts.

“It will be fine, Dean. Stop worrying. We’re going to cook it in the backyard, far from the house.”

“It’s not too late to pick one up at the store,” Dean protests, but Cas’ strikingly petulant look catches him off guard.

_“Trust me, Dean._ Please,” he implores, and Dean decides to shut up about it. Over the years, Cas has given him countless reasons to trust him. Dean’s doubt must be kind of insulting, at this point.

“Whatever,” he grumbles noncommittally as they pull up to the house. The roar of the Impala must have been heard from the house, because the door swings open and Lyric races out, brunette braided pigtails dancing. She’s wearing a plaid onesie in Christmas tones of red and green, though someone seems to have taken a pair of scissors to the feet of the outfit because she’s pattering out barefoot. The previous day, they’d all decided to do Thanksgiving in their pajamas in contrast to the formal Thanksgiving they’d had with Sam and Sarah. Dean hadn’t prepared himself for how cute Lyric would look, though.

“Dean! Cass-y-ell!” she squeals excited, hopping from one foot to the other as they exit the car. Dean and Cas have matching Thanksgiving lounge pants on, with brown cartoon turkeys all over on green fleece. While Dean paired his with an old worn out Metallica shirt, Cas couldn’t resist another dumb sweater. It is decorated inexplicably with cornucopias everywhere, spilling vegetables. It’s one of Cas’ weirder sweaters, but Dean’s long since stopped being fazed by the hideous things.

“Hello, Lyric,” Cas says as he closes the door behind him, and gives her a big hug, which surprises Dean. Usually Cas’ unsolicited hugs are reserved for Dean, but Dean finds that he doesn’t mind in this instance.

Dean’s surprised by how cold the house is, and wonders if it was the same way yesterday and he was too busy hauling stuff in to notice. He glances at the thermostat on his way in and finds that it’s supposedly blasting away at a powerful 85 degrees Fahrenheit, but there’s no way that’s correct. He makes a mental note to ask Jayne about it.

The house smells wonderful, and a visit to the kitchen shows that Jayne has outdone herself with all the side dishes. She’s wearing green, worn out pajama pants and an oversized grey t-shirt of some Broadway show Dean can’t pronounce. Her dark hair is braided to match her daughter’s, and humming to herself in the kitchen, she looks happier than she ever has. It’s startling how much different she looks when nothing’s troubling her. She smiles wide when she sees them.

“You guys match,” she notes happily. “Adorable.” Dean blushes hard and looks away, but Cas of course doesn’t get how cheesy it is and simply thanks her.

They get to work setting up the turkey to cook outside. Blessedly, it only takes under an hour, which is about a third of the time a typical turkey would take. While they wait, they all gather around the TV and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, which Jayne had the foresight to DVR that morning. Cas and Lyric are transfixed by the elaborate floats that cruise down the road, and the swarms of people that gathered to see it.

“Can we go next year?” Lyric whispers to Cas, and Cas smiles and nods, tugging her close. Jayne and Dean exchange looks of matching affection for the two loves of their lives, snuggled in close together. It’s crazy to think that just months ago, neither Lyric nor Jayne were in his life, and less than a year ago he and Cas had never kissed. The way time has changed so much scares Dean – but in a good way. It feels like a challenge he’s ready to rise to, whatever it may be.

When the turkey is done, they vote by a majority of three to one (Cas being the only dissenter) to eat dinner around the TV instead of at the table. Dean likes how homey it feels and how close everyone is, likes that Lyric bounces around from one person’s lap to the next. He’s just about to start eating when Lyric mutes the TV.

“We gotta  _pray first,_ ” she insists. The three adults all exchange looks.

“Lyric, sweetie, some grownups don’t pray before holiday dinners, and that’s okay –” Jayne starts, but Dean interrupts.

“It’s fine, I’m cool with it,” he says, surprised even as the words leave his mouth.

He’s equally surprised to hear Cas say, “As am I.”

“Okay, we all gotta say what we’re thankful for,” she tells them seriously, and then she closes her eyes, squeezing them shut much tighter than is really necessary. “Mama, you go first.”

“Oh – um. I’m thankful for my beautiful daughter,” she says, which causes Lyric to giggle. “And for Dean and Castiel, who have made our lives so much better.”

“Cass-y-ell, your turn,” Lyric whispers loudly.

“I am grateful that I fell – for Dean,” he quickly adds, obviously realizing how odd the sentence would sound to the two of them. “I am thankful for my family, and that it now includes Jayne and Lyric. It is much larger and warmer than I ever could have imagined.”

“Dean, you next,” Lyric instructs in her same loud whisper.

“Uh. What they said,” Dean says awkwardly, because even if this isn’t exactly prayer, it’s still not his style and he has no idea what to do with this.

Dean expects Lyric to protest at his admittedly lame addition to their prayer, but blessedly she chooses to accept it and move on.

“Thank you God for my Mama and for my new house and especially for my new daddies Dean and Cass-y-ell because they’re really nice and they make real good mac and cheese. I’m happy ‘cause you knew Mommy was really lonely and you sent her some friends. I’m real thankful I have a big family now. Thank you. Amen!”

Everyone opens their eyes and there’s a stunned silence for a moment as everyone stares at Lyric, who has so artlessly summarized their lives in the way only a child could. Dean’s surprised to find his aren’t the only set of eyes that have watered up just the tiniest bit at this little girl’s prayer. He scoops her tiny frame up into a big hug and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, holding her tight.

“I love you, kiddo,” he tells her, and it strikes him that he can count on one hand the amount of people he’s ever said those three words to, and she’s one of them. Somehow or another, these two former strangers have wormed their way into his heart and set up permanent residence there.

With his little girl nestled in his arms, happy and secure, he finds that he’s totally and completely okay with that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IF SHOWER WATER DOESN'T COUNT AS LUBE OKAY I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE LOOKING IT UP


	20. You Always Give Me Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It seems that whenever it gets very cold, you give me wings.”_
> 
> _There’s something goddamn poetic about that, Dean thinks, and he’s never been one for poetry so he doesn’t reply verbally, just kisses Cas’ chapped and frozen lips. If Dean was one for poetry, he might have said something like, ‘You_ always _give me wings, Cas.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys. It's been one year.
> 
> I've said this a million times, and I'll say it again - this series would have never happened without my amazing, dedicated readers. I never could have written a thick novel worth of words, could have never taken these characters on such an amazing journey. It's been a wonderful experience.
> 
> Thank you all for your support for so long.
> 
> Merry Christmas.
> 
> (ps. this is unbeta'd, so it's probably littered with mistakes. feel free to point them out! thank you)

“Dean. Dean, wake up.”

Dean wakes to a tiny smile and a pair of bright blue eyes staring across the bed at him, practically exuding happiness. The morning is as of yet nothing but a hazy gray shadow, barely graced by the sun at this early hour. Cas is sleepy-eyed and his hair is sticking up at odd ends, their thick covers pulled up to his chin. When he sees that Dean is awake, his tiny ghost of a smile splits into a grin. He laces their legs together and snugs in a little closer, eyes bright.

“There better be a good reason you have me up before the friggin sun is awake,” Dean grumbles, not unkindly. Cas is like a little orb of light this morning and, groggy though Dean is, he can’t help but absorb the warmth and positivity like it’s the sun’s own rays. There’s a reason Dean calls Cas his sunshine, and moments like this are it. He  _would_  like to know why his little sunbeam has chosen to shine at – Dean glances at their bedside clock and groans – 5:30 in the morning.

“There are 12 days until Christmas,” Cas whispers excitedly, “and I believe it’s snowing. That is  _excellent_  news, Dean! We may very well have a white Christmas.”

Dean yawns loudly and stretches out his back until it cracks.

“That’s great, Cas – I’m happy for you, dude, I am, but why did you have to tell me  _now_?”

Cas tilts his head just the slightest bit against his pillow, as though this hadn’t occurred to him before.

“I was excited,” he says sheepish moment, a sentiment cute enough to warrant Dean momentarily forgetting to be annoyed because he’s got to kiss the embarrassment off Cas’ face. The conversation cannot proceed until Cas is good and kissed – and kissed and kissed – and only when Cas’ earlier silly smile because of the snow comes back does Dean deem the job done. Dean’s surprised when Cas retaliates by  _tickling_ ; he’s never done it before and Dean didn’t know the fallen angel even knew how. Dean’s one and only attempt at tickling Cas had been quite awkward, with Cas asking Dean blankly what he was doing and Dean finding out the uncomfortable way that Cas is not ticklish.

Dean  _is_ , though, and Cas exploits this in every way possible, climbing on top of him and pinning him down and tickling Dean ‘til he’s squirming and crying with laughter. Cas finally relents to Dean’s borderline hysterical cries of “no more, no more!” and collapses into Dean’s arms, laying against his chest. Their laughter fades out to a warm and peaceful quiet, with Cas’ ear pressed to Dean’s heart and Dean’s fingers trailing through Cas’ hair.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean says thoughtfully after a while of reveling in this fantastic quiet. He’s been staring at the window, where the slowly rising sun has brought light to what is clearly a noteworthy amount of falling snow.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas asks quietly, punctuating the sentence with a kiss to the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

“Let’s go play in the snow,” Dean says, surprising himself by the grin that the sentence brings to his own lips and how excited he feels once he asks.

“Dean – it’s not even 6am. We haven’t eaten; you haven’t had your coffee. Surely you don’t–”

“Sure do. Let’s just do it, man. If I wait, I’ll start thinking about the cold slushy misery that is  _snow_ and change my mind. Let’s go now while I still think it’ll be fun.”

Cas wastes no further time and sits up excitedly, hopping out of bed and heading for their shared chest of drawers. They don’t have any snow-clothes and will probably get drenched in the jeans and sweaters Cas is pulling out for them, but Dean doesn’t mind. He hasn’t had a proper snowball fight since he was a kid, and somehow the prospect of one is more enticing than the inevitable waterlog is otherwise.

The ugly sweater Cas pulls out for today is tame in comparison to many of his others. It’s black with white and blue snowflakes littered all over it, and all the hems are lined in the same blue as the snowflakes. All the blue makes Cas’ eyes pop and it fits in a way that flatters Cas more than the majority of the rest, and Dean’s pleased with what he sees.

Not that he isn’t always.

Once Cas is half dressed and is tugging on his jeans, Dean stops staring and scrambles out of bed, suddenly eager enough to get dressed as quickly as possible. Cas laughs at his enthusiasm and tugs his pants on that much quicker. They grab hats and scarves and gloves and coats from the closet and pull them on haphazard before they both burst through the front door, laughing at the ridiculousness of their sudden inexplicable race. As soon as they’re outside, though, they both freeze in place.

It’s beautiful. Overnight, a blanket of white has gently settled over the world, creating a scene straight from a Hallmark card. There isn’t a single footprint in sight; it’s so early that even the streets are untouched. There is not so much snow as to make the roads undrivable – Dean’s sure that once the sun has risen fully and the snowplows have come through, his baby will be safe to drive them to the holiday store as planned – but in this moment it seems all-encompassing. It’s the kind of snow that seems almost a sin to trample… yet in the same right practically  _begs_ to be kicked up and stampeded over. Dean grabs Cas’ gloved hand and squeezes it tight before running out into their yard, dragging Cas along.

They spin around in a circle for a second, Dean kicking up tiny waves of snow in the process, looking for all the world like the two lovesick fools they are. Cas is the first to break hold and lean down to scoop up some snow and form a rather sad semblance of a snowball. He pelts it at Dean, who wasn’t paying attention but instantly accepts the declaration of war. They run around the yard making snowballs and ducking as the other throws snowballs at them, alternately shouting and shushing each other because it’s still too early to be disrupting their neighbors.

There’s not quite enough snow for a proper snowman, though they try. They end up with a sad looking creature that looks more like a blob than anything else, but it doesn’t stop them from decorating the three-foot nonentity with button eyes, a carrot nose, a mouth of Oreos and a hat, just because. At the end of their endeavors, they lay in the snow and stare at the pale gray sky, breathing in the air that smells and tastes like winter.

Dean starts flailing his limbs wildly in the snow, startling Cas into sitting up and looking at him curiously, head tilted and brow furrowed in confusion. Dean laughs.

“I’m making a snow angel,” Dean says merrily, wiggling away. Cas frowns, looking even more confused.

“Angels look nothing like that, Dean,” Cas says. “Our wingspans are at least four times that when chained to a human vessel, and easily the height of your Chrysler building in our –”

“Hey, hotshot, I get that you’re the authority on all things holy and winged,” Dean says with a dramatic rolls of his eyes, grin unfading. “But the average human thinks angels are cute little tree-toppers with fluffy wings. So get down here and make a snow angel with me, angel.”

Cas huffs but concedes, laying on his back again and awkwardly imitating Dean’s limb flailing. Once Dean’s content that his own snow angel is good and solid, he shuffles to his feet and lends Cas a hand. They both examine their handiwork and Cas unexpectedly hooks an arm around Dean’s waist and tugs him close.

“This is the closest to having wings I’ve had in a while,” he comments offhand, tone lighthearted and pleased.

“Since last Christmas?” Dean asks, smiling as he kisses one of Cas’ rosy, frozen cheeks.

“Yes, I think so,” he says thoughtfully, nodding. “It seems that whenever it gets very cold, you give me wings.”

There’s something goddamn poetic about that, Dean thinks, and he’s never been one for poetry so he doesn’t reply verbally, just kisses Cas’ chapped and frozen lips. If Dean  _was_  one for poetry, he might have said something like, ‘Y _ou always give me wings, Cas.’_

*

After some bangin’ hot chocolate, an awesome breakfast and an extremely warm and drawn-out bubble bath, Dean and Cas venture out into the cold for a second time, although this time they have a more clearly defined mission. The extent of the flat’s holiday decorations consists of, currently, only the decorations from last year. Cas has plans to go bigger and better this year, and Dean knows better than to protest. He’s pretty sure they’re going to have to rent a bigger storage locker for all their holiday stuff if Cas wants a cumulative decoration collection for  _every_ holiday. He thinks it’s ridiculous enough that they need a storage locker for their holiday crap in the first place – but, again, he doesn’t get a say in these matters.

Dean has a love/hate relationship with the seasonal holiday store in the mall, considering it has come to be both a friend and the bane of his existence over the past year. Seeing it decked out with Christmas stuff, though, has Dean feeling nostalgic of Dean’s first Christmas with Cas and the countless hours spent in the dumb store’s cheery depths. All the store workers are in Santa outfits this year, which Dean finds hilarious and Cas finds confusing.

Cas is thorough in his search of every aisle, wrinkling his nose at some things and practically snatching others off the shelves. Dean trails behind him with a bright red and green shopping cart, trying hard not to roll his eyes every time Cas asks his opinion on things. Ultimately, Cas always ignores Dean’s input and goes with his own convictions, so Dean has no idea why Cas bothers asking him whether the  _Merry Gingerbread_ candle smells better than the  _Fireside Cinnamon_  and other useless things like that. Cas always makes the right decision and their home always looks terrific; there’s no point pretending Dean has any hand in it. It’s all Cas.

One thing Cas is adamant on is upping the caliber of their outdoor decorations. He has declared a definitive desire to be ‘the most impressive display on the block’ – meaning Dean’s going to be spending a hell of a lot of time outside in the cold hanging Christmas lights. He tried to point out that their flat is tiny and they don’t have much yard space, but Cas had brushed him off as being needlessly pessimistic. Dean doesn’t mind much, though, particularly if Cas wants to get creative in  _warming Dean up_  post-decorating.

They head home in the Impala with the back seat full of bag after bag of holiday decorations, the radio blasting Christmas tunes like this is some kind of standard family vehicle and not the manliest ride in existence. Cas practically  _grins_ – and Cas doesn’t grin – when Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer starts to play, and Dean could care less what music his baby is playing, as long as it’s got that dopey look on Cas’ face. Christmas is all kinds of symbolic and important to both Cas and Dean, and it’s clear the significance of the holiday weighs heavy on Cas in a way that has him extra smiley and lighthearted. It’s contagious, and Dean finds himself equally cheery.

When Dean helps Cas unload all his decorations in the flat, he can’t help but laugh at how much mistletoe Cas has purchased. He holds onto the box in his hand and laughs until he’s tearing up at all the memories of last year, at the intense awkwardness of Cas’ first mistletoe experiences and how the dumb plant managed to inadvertently force them together. Cas watches him curiously, chuckling as well, and Dean rips open the box and pulls out a branch of mistletoe. He proceeds to chase Cas around the room with it (after an awkward moment of  _“Cas, I’m chasing you, you’re supposed to run”_ ) until he finally tackles him onto the bed and holds mistletoe above their heads and kisses him, slow and soft and sweet.

“This is my favorite time of year,” Cas says happily once they’ve finally parted lips.

“Y’know what, Cas? Me too.”

*

Cas is stupidly persistent about getting all the lights done up in  _one_ sitting, despite how the chill has long since settled into Dean’s bones and there is seriously  _no_ downside to waiting another goddamn day to finish it. Dean’s lost track of how long they’ve been out there, both of them on ladders borrowed from neighbors, applying trimming of Christmas lights to every available edge of their house. The porch railings are lined in red lights, and their roof is decked out in the white, ornate dangling kind. They outline their one wide front window in a string of alternating red and white lights, and lace the same ones through the bushes. They outline their smallish square of yard in white lights and have a field day with the lawn ornaments. This year they feature those cliché lawn reindeer everyone always has, though Cas has carefully counted out the exact number on Santa’s sleigh, named them and arranged them according to personality. They’re all a little cramped because their lawn isn’t exactly white-picket sized just yet, but Cas manages to make it look nice. He spends an absurd amount of time moving Rudolph around, making sure he looks better than all the rest. His preoccupation with the fictional outcast is  _adorable;_ Dean had all but forgotten it in the months since last Christmas.

They line the sidewalk leading up to their apartment with light-up candy canes, and because Cas is a girl, they tie a bow to every single one. Dean’s hugging himself for warmth and shivering periodically by the time Cas finally declares their flat acceptable, and nearly darts inside the minute Cas gives the clear. Cas grabs his hand, though, and leads him to the power outlets first. They turn on their lights and then stand out in the street and examine their handiwork. Dean whistles.

“This is beautiful, Cas,” he says, gaping, and it’s true. In the midst of Dean’s frustration with all the decorating and the distraction of the cold, Dean hadn’t really given much thought to the end product. It’s nothing short of a winter wonderland, and while it may not be the  _best_ in town or even on their block, Dean thinks it’s perfect.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replies, squeezing Dean’s hand, which is freezing even through the gloves. Dean notes that Cas’ hands seem just as cold.

“Can we go inside now?” Dean asks hopefully, and Cas chuckles and nods. They head back inside, arm-in-arm. There’s mistletoe hanging over the front door which has Dean laughing again, and Cas pulls him in by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him hard. They wrap their arms around each other and lean against the chilly exterior of the door and kiss until Cas turns his head to the side, covers his mouth and starts coughing. Dean groans.

“Damnit, Cas. Don’t go getting sick on me, man.”

“I am not sick, Dean,” Cas says with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t be overdramatic.”

*

Cas is sick. He wakes up the following morning reporting a pounding head and an overall ache to his body that, for once, is entirely unrelated to sex. What’s worse is that he seems to have developed a really shitty cough overnight and sounds like a dying smoker. Dean calls Cas out of work without Cas’ permission, and they  _almost_ fight about it… but when Cas starts to get up he groans and holds his head, falling back against the pillows.

“Perhaps I could benefit from some rest,” he says hesitantly. Dean presses his palm to Cas’ forehead and frowns.

“You’re warm, dude. I’ll check your temperature – or, wait, do we even have a thermometer? I’ll pick one up on my way home from work. Are you okay to stay here by yourself today?”

Cas gives him his blankest stare.

“I’ll be fine, Dean.”

Dean chews his lip pensively as he buttons up his old-fashioned uniform and stares at Cas, who is swaddled up with blankets, still in bed.

“I’m stopping home on my lunch break,” Dean decides aloud, and Cas huffs loudly.

“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” he protests, but Dean just waves him off.

“Centuries old soldier, blah blah blah. Listen, Cas, angels don’t get sick so you don’t know how much it sucks. Let me take care of you, man.” Dean struggles with his bow tie and falls quiet as he tries to make it work. Cas usually does both of their bow ties because bow ties are _stupid_  and for all Dean’s history of disguises, he has almost zero experience with bow ties. Cas  _tsks_  and beckons him over with a gesture of his hand, and Dean reluctantly obliges. From his nest of blankets and pillows, Dean ties Dean’s bow tie for him and smoothes down his collar. He glances at Dean’s lips, but hesitates.

“If I kiss you, you’ll get sick as well,” he comments glumly. He looks so entirely forlorn at the prospect of not kissing Dean that Dean decides right then and there that they’re throwing caution to the winds because there’s no way Cas is going to be _pouty_  on top of being sick. Dean kisses him and Cas smiles. Dean’s half expecting Cas to protest or something, but he’s delighted to find that Cas is giving a very rare show of selfishness. He kisses Dean eagerly and actually whines when Dean pulls away.

“I’ll be back in four hours,” Dean says. Cas still doesn’t look happy about it, but he doesn’t contribute any further dissent. By the time Dean has his coat, hat and gloves on, Cas has fallen asleep. Dean stands over the bed for a moment, watching him sleep wistfully. Cas’ hair is slightly wet from fever-induced sweat, and he looks small and vulnerable in sleep. Even without his angel mojo, Cas has always seemed to exude power to Dean; it’s odd to see him so weak… and unexpectedly endearing, too.

Every now and then schedule changes make it so Cas and Dean don’t work at the same time, and those are the days when the clock moves slowest. Dean actually enjoys his job when Cas is working too, and Dean can whizz by the kitchen on his skates and make faces at Cas as he passes. Their banter when he drops off and picks up orders make work feel less like work; without Cas around, the quality of his day rests solely on the sorts of patrons the diner picks up that day. On this particular day, there are barely any visitors at all, and Dean is bored and restless. Three hours into his shift, his manager tells him to add an extra paid hour to his break and go home early, saying, “we’d be screwed without our little kitchen superstar, so get home and make sure he’s okay.” She’s had a soft spot for the two of them since the day she hired them, so Dean’s not entirely surprised at this. He is incredibly grateful, though, and thanks her repeatedly on his way out.

Dean arrives at home armed with a thermometer and some take-out chicken soup from the diner and finds Cas exactly where he left him, huddled up in bed under the blankets. He rolls his eyes affectionately and puts his purchases down before stealing into bed beside Cas. Cas, to Dean’s surprise, is out like a light, mouth hanging open slightly in sleep. Dean sighs and cuddles up to his sleeping fallen angel, wrapping an arm around his waist and frowning at how Cas is burning like a furnace. He’s thinking about taking a nap, too, when Cas’ eyes flicker open.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, and promptly hides his face in his pillow and coughs and coughs, making Dean’s stomach twist with worry. Cas groans once the fit has subsided.

“Is there no way I can convince you to flee from my germs?” Cas grumbles unhappily into the pillow, and Dean just smiles and shakes his head.

“Sorry, Sunshine. I’d rather get sick from a cold than be sick from wanting to kiss you.”

Cas looks up at Dean blearily, a small smile on his face to match Dean’s.

“That was almost poetic, Dean,” he says, sounding awed. Dean huffs and looks away.

“I brought you soup,” Dean says, ignoring that, and Cas responds by burying his face in Dean’s neck.

“No thank you,” he mumbles into Dean’s skin.

“Have you even eaten today?” Dean persists, gently pushing Cas’ shoulder back so he can look at him. Cas doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I haven’t been hungry.”

“You need to eat something,” Dean says, his face a picture of disapproval. “And you need to be drinking fluids.”

Cas frowns.

“The only fluids I want right now are yours inside me, Dean,” he says, catching Dean off guard with his bluntness. Dean feels his mouth go dry when Cas bites his lip and looks at Dean earnestly. “Will you fuck me, please?”

Dean exhales sharply.

“Jesus, Christ,” he whispers, because goddamn if Cas’ imploring eyes and chewed lip isn’t the hottest thing ever. He tries to reel his thoughts back in, though, in favor of Cas’ health. “You’re sick, Cas. You need rest so you can feel better faster.”

Cas glares immediately, as though he was anticipating Dean’s response.

“Nothing would make me feel better than you thrusting inside me and panting my name,” Cas says, deadpan, and there he goes again with his completely artless dirty talk, just talking like he always talks, casual but intense because he means every word he says. There’s nothing affected about it; Cas couldn’t do contrived if he wanted to.

“Well, shit,” Dean says, running a hand through his own hair. Cas slips a leg between Dean’s and lines their hips up, reinforcing just how serious Cas is because Dean can clearly feel the hard bulge of a growing erection straining at Cas’ boxers. A shudder shoots down Dean’s spine and he’s silent and motionless for a moment, just breathing hotly. Cas grinds against Dean just the slightest bit, just to get his attention, and Dean’s resolve crumbles.  

He kisses Cas, less roughly than he often does because Cas is still burning beneath his fingers, uncharacteristically weak. Cas is far more urgent then he is, slipping in tongue at the first opportunity, rolling his hips and making Dean gasp. One of Cas’ hands finds the back of Dean’s neck and the other untucks the shirt of Dean’s work uniform before creeping up Dean’s back and dragging nails across his skin. Dean’s mouth falls open and all he can do is pant hotly in Cas’ mouth, shivering against the press of his body against his boyfriend’s.

They lose layers in a frenzy of prying fingers, shucking clothes and belts and shoes quickly enough. Most of the layers belong to Dean; Cas was clad only in pair of pajama pants and one of Dean’s t-shirts, suspiciously commando, like he’s planned this. Dean’s pretty sure the guy went to bed wearing boxers. The friction of skin-to-skin, legs entwined and grinding hard like desperate teenagers, is that much more intense than it is with fabric between them. Dean moans and throws his head back against the pillows as Cas sucks a hickey to his shoulder, safe where his uniform will hide it later. Dean likes his job, but he kind of resents that it limits where Cas can mark him. Call him juvenile, but Dean likes a healthy collar of bites and hickeys.

Cas rolls, pulling Dean so that Cas is on his back and Dean is on top of him. He spreads his legs wide in an open invitation, baring himself and sending Dean’s pulse racing so hot Dean wonders if  _he’s_  sick. He takes a stretch of time just to lavish attention on Cas’ chest, sucking and biting at his nipples and then down his stomach, sliding his nails up and down Cas’ side. Cas is on fire, fever evident in the heat of his skin, and it shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is.

He stops at Cas’ hips and takes his time, biting at the bones that jut out, relishing in the broken nonsense words and sounds that spill from Cas’ mouth. Beneath Dean, Cas is hard as Dean himself is, and he thrusts up every now and then, wanton with pleasure and Dean decides he’s about ready for more. He kisses up Cas’ body again and Cas pounces as soon as he’s back at face level, kissing Dean hard and twisting their tongues, making Dean groan and writhe. Yeah, Dean’s more than ready to be inside him right about now.

Cas is not too weakened by sickness to wrap his legs around Dean and drag him down, arresting Dean’s attention with the clash of their erections. Dean laments having to pull out of Cas’ grip to reach for lube, but it’s a necessary evil. He slicks up his fingers as fast as he can and has two inside Cas just as soon as they’re nice and slick. Cas shakes and moans and pushes down onto Dean’s fingers, clearly eager for a greater weight within him. Dean happily obliges, loving how completely wrecked Cas is quickly becoming.

Once Dean has five fingers pumping in and out of Cas, reaching for his prostrate and making him writhe wildly, Dean finally deems him fit for penetration. He hikes Cas’ legs up around him again, and Cas locks his legs in place. Dean takes a deep breath and pushes in, groaning at the intense, blissful white-hot pressure which is that much more heated because of Cas’ high temperature.  He rocks in and out of Cas much more gently than usual, and he knows Cas is sick because Cas doesn’t even protest the easy pace. It’s still crazy hot, though, in every sense of the word, and Dean falls out of touch with the inane nonsense his own mouth is spouting, lost in the wild pleasure of the moment.

Dean can tell when he’s hit Cas’ prostate in the way Cas’ legs tense up around him just the slightest and his nails scratching up Dean’s back have just the slightest bit more force. Cas leans up and kisses Dean desperately, and it’s more of a clash of open mouths than anything else. Dean can feel his orgasm building low in his stomach and his thrusts stutter and lose their steady regularity. Beneath him, Cas’ chest is heaving and there’s a fine sheen of sweat all over his body, and Dean’s pretty sure Cas is close, too. He’s gotten pretty good at telling when Cas is on the verge of an orgasm, and more often than not he’s right there with him, riding the edge and ready to succumb to the pressure.

Cas comes first, body seizing up as he gasps Dean’s name against Dean’s lips, eyes wide and pupils dilated. The sight of Cas riding the high of climax is usually enough to push Dean over the edge too, and today is no exception. Dean buries his face in Cas’ neck and his breath comes short and fast as pleasure shocks his system, rushing over him in waves. Cas whimpers below him as his over-sensitized body is filled with Dean’s release, and Dean has the presence of mind to pull out to give the guy a chance to compose himself. He collapses on to of Cas, chest to chest, and runs a hand through Cas’ sweaty hair before kissing him, close-mouthed and soft. Cas smiles at him, bright eyes the epitome of afterglow. They lie like that a moment, collecting themselves.

Dean wants nothing more than to fall asleep beneath dirty sheets beside Cas, but he has responsibilities that require him to be showered and presentable. Work would kinda suck if he had to go the day with dried come clinging to his skin. He sighs and forces himself up, groaning unhappily at having to leave the warmth of the bed. Cas pouts at him, which doesn’t help, and slips a burning hot hand on Dean’s waist, gently, in a silent request for Dean to stay.

“I gotta shower for work,” he says regretfully, and thankfully Cas lets him go without further protest. Dean takes a quick shower, eager to get out and take care of Cas, who still hasn’t eaten and has barely left his bed at all this morning. Dean treks out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, catching the not-so-subtle once-over Cas throws in his direction when he sees him.

Dean grabs the takeout container of chicken soup off the coffee table and takes it to the kitchen to microwave it. He pours some orange juice in the meantime and makes himself a sandwich, since it is his lunch break after all. The microwave announces that it’s done with a series of loud beeps just as Dean’s putting the top bread on his sandwich. He arranges everything on a tray and heads back to the living room, where Cas is pulling a sweater over his head. He’s already broken out the Christmas sweaters, and this one is black with white kittens wearing Santa hats. It looks warm, though, which is the only thing Dean cares about. He remembers from when Sam was a child and sick that it’s important to keep someone with a fever bundled up, despite how his instincts tell him to cool Cas down.

“Eat,” Dean says, placing the tray on the coffee table. Cas grabs a blanket off the bed and clambers onto the couch next to Dean, squishing in closer than usual and leaning his whole body against Dean in a way that reminds Dean of a kitten. It seems that being sick has made Cas more cuddly than usual, which is pretty damn adorable if Dean’s willing to admit. He hands Cas his bowl and spoon and grabs his own sandwich, closing his eyes blissfully as he eats. Cas looks at the bowl in his hands hesitantly before finally bringing the spoon to his lips and blowing on it. He seems content enough once he finally starts eating, and Dean wills himself to stop worrying.

Dean’s still got a little under a half hour until he has to leave once they’re done eating, so he sets the alarm on his phone and lays down on the couch, pulling Cas with him. They lay chest to chest and Cas tucks his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, sighing heavily. He’s still very warm, and Dean notes absently that he forgot to check Cas’ temperature. Cas’ breathing has already started to deepen, though, and Dean’s pretty sure the other man is on his way to sleep. He doesn’t want to wake him when he’s seems so peaceful, so he makes a mental note to check later.

The alarm is ringing before Dean even realizes he’s fallen asleep, and he hastens to turn it off before it has a chance to wake Cas. Thankfully, Cas only stirs slightly but doesn’t make any other indication of wakefulness, so Dean figures he’s all clear. He does his best to squirm out of Cas’ grip and off the couch without rousing his sleeping boyfriend, and silently fistpumps when he succeeds. On his way out the door a thought strikes him, and he turns on his heels and heads to the kitchen to rummage for a pen and paper. Once he’s found them, he writes a quick note:

_CAS:_

_DRINK LOTS OF FLUIDS AND TEXT ME YOUR TEMPERATURE AND SLEEP A LOT PLEASE_

_SERIOUSLY CAS DRINK ORANGE JUICE_

_LOVE YOU_

He stares at the message for a moment before nodding to himself affirmatively. He places it on the coffee table and then quietly sneaking out the door, casting one last wistful glance at Cas on the way out.

*

Cas’ temperature turns out to be a solid 100 degrees Fahrenheit, which apparently isn’t too major but it’s enough to have Dean worried all day and infinitely grateful to arrive home once the work day is over. On his way home he called Sam to bitch at him for getting Cas sick, but Sam quickly redirects the blame to both Dean and Cas for staying out in the cold decorating for so long. They stop bickering about it long enough for Sam to detail what Cas needs to get better – more soup, vitamin C pills and ginger tea. Dean begrudgingly thanks his little brother and stops at the supermarket on the way home to stock up on all these things. Cas rolls his eyes at Dean’s efforts but his gratitude is evident at the fond look he gives Dean when he walks into the room from the kitchen with a cup of tea and a bowl of soup.

By the following day, Cas’ fever has broken and Dean is showing no signs of catching the cold. He’s still coughing all the time, but he no longer feels too weak and achy to do anything. They celebrate with rough sex and later, pie from the diner, though Dean has Cas bundled up so much he looks somewhat like an Eskimo. Their co-worker chuckles at Cas’ grumpy face as she serves them, which only makes Cas look even more grumpy.

There’s some new cutesy kids’ Christmas movie playing in theatres that Cas has been waiting for since commercials started airing for it months ago, and Cas is not above using “but I’m  _sick_ ” as a way of coercing Dean into agreeing to go. It seems a little dumb – something about Jack Frost, and who is he, anyway? – but Dean’s never been particularly strong against the pull of puppy-dog eyes, so he agrees. He makes like a high school boy in a cliché teen movie and wraps his arm around Cas’ seat. They push up the armrest and Cas settles into him comfortably. Dean’s all set to hate the movie, but it ends up being interesting, with excellent animation and a properly creepy bad guy. When he mentions this to Cas after the movie, Cas looks pleased as a kitten with a saucer of milk, and it reminds Dean just how much Cas values his opinion.

They spend the rest of the day baking cookies, half of which they intend to bring with them to Bobby’s and half they plan to give to Lyric and Jane. Cas is wearing a Christmas apron with a cartoon Santa on it and girly frills around the edges, and he seems to be oblivious at how tragically it’s defying his manliness, and Dean refrains from pointing it out. Dean skates around in his socks on the smooth kitchen floor and Cas plays Christmas music, singing along when Rudolph’s song comes on. Dean’s surprised to find that he remembers the names of all the reindeer after all this time. He tries not to sing along in order to spare his dignity, but Cas’ happiness is infectious and he catches himself mouthing the words throughout the song. All in all, it’s a good evening and feels every bit as Christmasy as last year, if not more so.

There’s a TV channel featuring a 12 days of Christmas marathon, playing classic Christmas movies night and day. They snuggle into the couch later that evening with snowman candles as the only source of light in the room, and eventually and fall asleep in front of the TV. Dean’s the little spoon, with his back pressed to Cas’ chest, and he feels warm and safe in Cas’ arms. Cas’ chin is resting on Dean’s shoulder and his cheek is against Dean’s, and all feels right with the world.

*

Bobby calls the following morning with news of a case right in their area – multiple reports of a Jersey devil in South Jersey who is already responsible for three deaths and could easily take out more. Bobby seems oddly reluctant to share the information, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion it’s because Bobby’s with Sam on the desire for Dean and Cas to stop hunting. Dean ignores Bobby’s obvious discomfort and writes down the details, getting all the information Bobby has on Jersey devils, which Dean has never come across before.

Dean and Cas fight about the hunt. They’ve haven’t fought in a while, not since Sam’s wedding, and it feels strange for Dean to raise his voice – and even stranger to hear Cas raise his, too. Cas can’t go ten minutes without a coughing fit, and Dean’s not willing to risk getting overheard by what they’re hunting. Cas is vehemently against Dean going at the hunt alone and vocalizes this sharply, putting Dean on the defensive. And hanging over all this is the unspoken fact that neither of them are apparently going to mention; they had plans to go ice skating and get their tree today.

“You’re going to get hurt,” Cas says sharply, leaning against the door in a subtle attempt to block it. It doesn’t go unnoticed to Dean, and it only serves to irritate him more. He laughs, empty and hollow, and pins Cas with a heated glare.

“I’m not some rookie, Cas, I can take care of myself. Are you forgetting that I went weeks without Sam before? I was just fine. Stop blowing this out of proportion.”

“I’m going with you,” Cas insists, crossing his arms with a glare that rivals Dean’s own.

“No, you’re not,” Dean snaps. “That cough is going to get us  _killed_ , Cas. For someone who’s making a huge deal out of safety, you seem to have no problem overlooking that.”

“I’ll take cough medicine,” Cas says, voice tight and harsh, brow furrowed in anger and shoulders tense. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s been so reliable thus far,” he says, rummaging through the coat closet and pulling out his leather jacket.

“I won’t allow you to go without me,” Cas growls as Dean slips on his coat, pointedly looking anywhere but at Cas.

“Yeah? And how exactly are going to stop me?” Dean challenges, and Cas looks a little taken aback by it, as though he wasn’t expecting Dean to go as far as outright ignoring his wishes. His posture changes, then, and he slumps against the door, glare dissolving into something much more broken. Dean can’t help but meet his eyes.

“Don’t go,” Cas says, and his voice is no longer an octave too loud and a shade too sharp. Dean’s not swayed by it, though, and he ignores Cas in favor of grabbing the keys and shoving past Cas aggressively. Cas watches him leave, defeated, and Dean tries not to think about the awful look on Cas’ face because if he does, he’ll have to acknowledge that he’s the one that put it there. He slams the door shut and then gets in the car and drives, blasting classic rock and trying to work through the knot in his stomach.

*

The Pine Barrens of South Jersey are shadowy and surprisingly dense, with tall trees that tower high overhead and block out sunlight. While Dean has the advantage of the trees being bare of leaves, the overcast sky isn’t doing him any favors by way of making the hunt any easier. His shotgun is loaded with silver bullets and two civilians who were lost in the woods – children, both no older than 13 – trail close behind him. They both saw the thing and barely escaped a gruesome death when Dean scared the thing off with a shot that just barely missed the creature. Lightning fast, it had run off, but Dean’s instincts let him know they’re still being hunted, just as he’s hunting it.

The priority is to get these kids out of harm’s way, though, and he’s leading the way through the trail he’s marked to get them out of the woods. He can see the edge of the woods from here, can see suburban houses in the distance, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He doubts the creature will attack this close to civilization. A shifting in the leaves on the forest floor nearby has him on alert, but not necessarily concerned; from what he’s heard of them, Jersey devils don’t like straying from the safety of the Pine Barrens.

The next thing Dean knows, a searing pain is coursing through his back, mind-blowing in the sheer magnitude of the pulsing agony of four long, sharp claws ripping into his flesh. He’s only able to make out the sound of a shrill scream and a gunshot before he crashes to the ground, unconscious.

*

_Castiel does not know how to be alone._

_For thousands of years, his mind was always abuzz with the presence of his brothers. Being part of a garrison meant that his Grace was always in connected to others; there was never a moment when he could not feel the weighty reality of heaven and its angels heavy in his mind, in his Grace, in his wings. He was a soldier whose existence only made sense within the context of the army he served. It was a comfort, being able to feel them always. He was not designed to function as a single unit._

_And then he_ fell _, and his powers slowly tapered out and the connection was severed. The last traces of it were ripped out when he lost his wings and subsequently his Grace, and Castiel was alone in body, spirit and mind for the first time in eternity. Castiel was completely on his own and he realized, then, how incredibly and overwhelmingly unsuited he was for a solitary existence._

_But he had Dean._

_The steady ache of loneliness trickled away as the two of them drew closer. Every smile from Dean has made Castiel feel a little less hopeless; in time, the hopelessness has melted away completely. He has stopped missing his wings because_ Dean  _is his wings, and has fallen beautifully and terrifyingly in love. Castiel is happy, and only since becoming happy has he been able to realize that he was never truly happy before. Connection without intimacy is worthless. Solidarity without love is empty. Castiel is sure that to be alone again, now, after learning the true depths of being in love with another person, would kill him. It is unfathomable._

_It is these thoughts that hit Castiel in a panicked rush when he gets a phone call from a South Jersey hospital telling him that Dean has been “stabbed.” Castiel leans his head against the kitchen doorway and calmly requests information and directions while his whole body shakes and his insides feel like they’re detonating. Dean hasn’t woken since he arrived, she says, and adds that she can’t disclose any further information over the phone. He thanks the nurse tonelessly and calls a cab, trying to keep it together, trying to do anything but imagine a world without Dean._

_A small part of Castiel is furious at Dean for ignoring his entreaties not to go alone, but it’s swallowed up under the host of other feelings that are threatening to drown him. He gets dressed and puts on one of Dean’s old t-shirts under his other layers, a heavy lump rising in his throat as he breathes in deep and smells nothing but Dean, Dean, Dean. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to clear his head, because he’s afraid if he lets a tear slip he won’t be able to stop. Now is the time to be strong. Castiel was once a soldier, after all. He pulls on his coat and gloves methodically, thoughtlessly._

_The cab outside announces its presence with a beep of its horn, and Castiel rushes to it, half-running despite himself. He gives the cabbie the address and takes deep, shaky breaths, willing the car to go faster. Cab fare will probably be exorbitant, but that’s the last thing on Castiel’s mind right now._

_Castiel must be in some sort of reverie, because before he knows it he’s at Our Lady of Lords hospital in South Jersey and he’s paying the cabbie and exiting the taxi. He apparently looks more shaken than he realized, because the woman at the front desk asks if he’s okay when he walks up to ask where Dean is. Castiel responds honestly, “No, I don’t think so,” before wiping at phantom tears and reigning himself in again. She gives him Dean’s room number without trouble when Castiel provides false evidence that he is Dean’s legal partner – something he’s grateful they thought of getting months ago, for this very reason – and takes the elevator up to Dean’s floor. The place smells of overly sterile cleaning products and slowly dying people and Castiel feels nauseous._

_He finds Dean’s room and heaves a deep breath before entering. The lights are off and Dean’s eyes are closed. He has an IV attached to one arm and his features look troubled, even in sleep. His chest is heavily bandaged. He looks dead and Castiel almost loses his grip on himself when this occurs to him, and he repeatedly reminds himself that Dean is_ not  _dead, that he is merely unconscious which is notably different. He wishes that a nurse would come and tell him what is going on. He wants to know when Dean is going to wake up._

_Castiel drapes his trench coat over a chair in the corner of the room and drags the chair to Dean’s bedside, sitting down and taking the other man’s hand in his. Dean should be awake, and they should be laughing and joking about how Castiel was right and is always right and how Dean should listen to him always. Dean should be requesting pie and complaining about not being able to have sex because of his injuries. Castiel can’t bear the idea of days and days spent in the silent room watching someone who is normally so animated lay so silently._

_Castiel cradles his head in his arms and rests it on the bed, eyes closed because the sight of Dean like this is overwhelming. He doesn’t notice when the nurse walks in, and jumps when she taps him on the shoulder._

_“Mr. Winchester?” she asks, and Castiel nods because he’s supposed to be married to Dean right now._

_“I’d like to talk to you about the status of your partner.”_

_Castiel lifts his head and swallows hard._

_“Yes, please,” he says, and she seems surprised by his formality._

_“Right now he’s in medically induced sleep because his body needs rest in order for the wounds to heal,” she starts, but Castiel is surged with such relief that he can’t keep himself from speaking over her._

_“Medically induced? The doctors are regulating this?”_

_The nurse smiles reassuringly._

_“Yes. Dean will be fine. We’ll slowly wean him off the sleeping drugs and hopefully he’ll be conscious by morning. His wounds aren’t very deep and nothing major was punctured. We expect him to make a full recovery.”_

_Only then does Castiel allow himself to cry._

_*_

When Dean wakes up, he’s in a foreign bed in a foreign room and the only familiar thing is Cas’ body tucked in next to his. He turns to look at him better and winces as a sharp pain jabs through his system and he lays back down, staring at the ceiling. He’s barely awake ten seconds before Cas is rousing beside him, sitting up and looking at him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and his eyes are brimming with so much emotion that Dean is instantly aware that something really bad has happened. A brief glance around the room tells Dean that they’re in a hospital, and the IV dangling from Dean’s arm indicates that Dean is the cause. Cas is staring at him as though he’s been resurrected or something.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says wearily, running his free hand through Cas’ hair.

“How do you feel?” Cas asks, and Dean laughs.

“Like I’ve been hit by a steamroller,” he says honestly, and Cas looks so troubled by this that Dean wishes he hadn’t been so blunt.

“I have never missed my powers as much as I do now,” Cas whispers, and Dean slips his hand down Cas’ face and draws Cas gently up to kiss him because it would hurt too much to move himself. Cas gives him the gentlest of kisses, like he’s afraid Dean will break beneath him.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean says dismissively. “I’ve been hurt worse.”

Cas furrows his brows disbelievingly.

“I’ve died a couple times, dude. This is just a scratch in comparison.”

“I was worried,” Cas says quietly, and Dean can tell that he means it with all of his being. Dean’s hit with a surge of guilt and it’s suddenly difficult to meet Cas’ eyes. He remembers what happened, now, and the fact that Cas feared this before it even happened makes it that much worse.

“I’m a jackass, aren’t I?” Dean asks, sighing heavily.

“Yes,” Cas agrees without hesitation, glaring at Dean. Dean does his best to convey the guilt he feels in his eyes and his words.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he says, and Cas’ expression melts and that quick, Dean is forgiven. Dean knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s thankful.

“Kiss me again?” Dean asks, because Cas has moved and he can’t. Cas smiles his little smile and complies, drawing this one out longer than the last. Dean sighs happily into the kiss, grateful to be alive.

*

When Sam and Sarah catch word of Dean’s injury, they make the trip down to Media despite Dean’s assurances that he’s fine. After his fourth day in the hospital, Dean’s getting restless but thankfully the doctor and nurses have negotiated his release as long as he promises to take it easy. Dean and Cas arrive home just as Sam and Sarah are pulling up, and Dean sees Sam’s big hug coming and puts his hands up in caution to remind Sam not to squeeze him. Sam catches the gesture and his embrace is feather-light, and Sarah does the same.

“We rearranged our flight so we’ll be flying out of Philadelphia International instead of JFK,” Sarah tells him as they enter the house, and Dean groans.

“You guys are all alarmists, y’know that?” he mutters. “How’s a guy supposed to get laid if his brother and sister-in-law are hanging around?”

Cas looks appropriately embarrassed at this comment, as does Sam, who exclaims “ _Gross!”_ and wrinkles his nose. Sarah just laughs and rolls her eyes.

“Like you’d be getting any, anyway. You’re wounded,” she says dismissively.

Sam and Sarah look around the apartment, and Dean’s confused by the matching surprised expressions on their faces. It’s not the usual look of impressment that they usually give when they see Cas’ decorating; instead, they’re staring conspicuously at the corner of the room.

“Where’s the tree?” Sam asks, effectively explaining their expressions. Again, Dean’s hit with a wave of guilt – they were supposed to have one by now, and would if not for him. Cas is looking at him worriedly, as though anticipating Dean’s inner response. He touches Dean’s wrist gently, pulling him out of his dark thoughts, and speaks before Dean has a chance to voice any of his self-hating thoughts.

“We’ve been preoccupied,” Cas says simply, in a way that decidedly ends the conversation. Sam and Sarah exchange looks.

“Let’s go get one, then,” Sarah suggests with a shrug. Cas casts an uneasy glance at Dean.

“Dean’s not supposed to go anywhere,” he tells them, as if they don’t already know.

“We don’t need Dean to pick out a tree,” Sam says, and he has a point. He probably wouldn’t be much help with it, anyway; last year he just let Cas pick it out. Last year was a whole world different than this year, though, and Dean wonders silently if the process would be different this year. He puts that out of his mind, though. Cas deserves a tree and in a couple days they’ll be leaving for Bobby’s. There’s not much time to enjoy it if they don’t get one today.

“Sammy’s right,” Dean forces himself to agree. “You guys go on without me.”

“C’mon, Cas, it’ll be fun,” Sarah chimes in.

_“No.”_  Cas’ voice is so sharp it shuts everyone up, and everyone in the room turns to stare at him. He looks surprised at their sudden attention and chews the inside of his cheek silently for a moment before speaking again.

“All of this – my life, my happiness, with Dean… it all started with a tree. It would feel wrong to do this without him.” He stares at his shoes and rocks on his heels, demonstrating just how inept he is at this whole love business, too. He’s clearly embarrassed at being so sentimental, but not enough to keep from saying it. Dean reaches for Cas’ hand and squeezes it. He wants to tell Cas that it’s no big deal, that he’s being silly and should just go get the damn tree… but he’s kind of on the same page as Cas with all the symbolism whatever, embarrassing though it may be. He wants to do this with Cas, or he doesn’t want Cas to do it at all. He knows it’s selfish, but he’s grateful that Cas feels the same way.

“Would it really be so bad for me to take a quick trip to get a tree?” Dean asks, frowning as he rubs circles in Cas’ hand with his thumb. In all honesty, the idea of going anywhere makes him want to wince in pain just thinking about it, but he’s willing to endure for Cas’ sake. As always, Cas sees right through him. He shakes his head.

“We’ll see how you feel in the morning,” he says. “You need rest for right now. You also need pain medication.” Cas pulls Dean’s prescription from the depths of his trench coat pockets and leads Dean by the hand to the kitchen.

“Aw, Cas, they’re gonna make me sleepy,” Dean whines half-heartedly. He wants to enjoy Sam and Sarah’s company, and feels bad that he’s about to pass out on Cas _again_. He feels like he’s spent way too much time unconscious the past few days, with Cas hovering nearby, lonely and worried. Cas gives him a fond look but otherwise ignores his entreaties in favor of pouring him a glass of water.

“Unconsciousness is your penance for disobeying me,” Cas says matter-of-factly as he hands Dean a tiny mountain of pills and the glass. Dean sighs because, yeah, the guy has a point there.

“’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says tiredly as he pops the pills and swallows down gulps of water. Cas crosses the kitchen and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist.

“You were forgiven the moment I found out you would live,” Cas says quietly, pressing a kiss to Dean’s jaw.

Dean huffs an airy laugh.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says fondly, and Cas looks genuinely taken aback by the comment. He tilts his head to the side in a display of confusion that Dean has found endearing since day one.

“Dean,” he says slowly, brows furrowed, “I often wonder if I was crafted for you, and you for me. There is no ‘deserving’. We are supposed to be together.”

Cas has basically said every cliché romance novel chickflick line he could possibly say in one breath… and it doesn’t bother Dean. Once upon a time he might have shied from this talk of being made for each other, this idea of purpose and belonging. But here, now, in this moment… Dean’s willing to accept that there is something undoubtedly real about what Cas is saying. Dean feels it too, feels it in his core. He and Cas just  _fit_.

“I think you’re right,” Dean says, surprising himself in that he’s vocalizing his thoughts. Cas looks surprised, too, eyebrows arching up, eyes searching Dean’s. Dean kisses him because it feels like the time to do so, and Cas kisses back. They hold each other, gently to spare Dean’s wounds, and stand there unmoving for what feels like a very long time. Dean can feel Cas’ fingers curling in his shirt, and he knows that Cas is clinging as tightly as he dares. Dean finds himself doing the same.

“Please don’t do anything like this again,” Cas whispers in Dean’s ear, and for a moment Dean considers the impossible – giving up hunting forever. But he knows that that’s not what Cas is asking for, that Cas would never ask that of him, so he shakes the thought from his mind and shakes his head in response to Cas.

“Never again,” he promises, and Cas gives one last heaving sigh before letting Dean go.

“We’re being rude to our guests,” Cas points out. “Go join them, enjoy their company before you fall asleep. I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“Do you want any help?” Dean offers, and Cas responds with a  _look_.

“Absolutely not. You need to be resting. Go,” he says, shooing Dean, who laughs and finally complies. Sam’s on the couch and Sarah is up messing with their fake heated fireplace, trying to turn it on. Dean walks over and adjusts the controls for her so that it’s blowing full force, and she smiles gratefully and thanks him before joining Sam on the couch.

“Bobby got some other hunters to take the case, by the way,” Sam mentions. “It took three of them to take it down. It was apparently faster and stronger than usual.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly at Dean, clearly admonishing him in what was probably an attempt to be subtle.

“I can vouch for that,” he replies gruffly. “They gank that son of a bitch?”

“Yeah, they got him.”

“Good.”

Dean only wishes he’d had the pleasure of killing it himself.

*

For once, Dean has the pleasure of waking up in his own bed while Sam and Sarah are sleeping over. Typically he and Cas, with their combined insistence, can convince the Sam and Sarah to take the bed while the two of them snuggle up on the couch. This time, though, Sam and Sarah would have none of it; it was unanimously decided (save for Dean’s vote, which was apparently not a consideration) that Dean would rest better in the comfort of his own bed with the familiarity of Cas sleeping beside him, and so he ended up doing just that. Part of him hates being treated so fragilely, but another surprising half is soaking up being doted over. Never mind that the affection is littered with slight jabs at Dean’s decision-making skills; he can deal with that. He’s certainly earned it.

Sam and Sarah wake before he does, and Sarah’s bringing in a tray of breakfast just as he’s opening his eyes. He’s surprised to see Cas still sleeping beside him, but once he thinks about it, it makes sense. Cas hasn’t spent a night in his own room since the accident, either, and there’s no way he got any restful sleep in a hospital, worried about Dean. Dean doesn’t want to wake him, but he also doesn’t want the other plate of food on the tray to go cold. He thanks Sarah graciously as he takes the tray and then turns to nudge Cas gently in the ribs. Cas stirs subtly but doesn’t open his eyes, so Dean changes tactics, tickling his sides instead of nudging him. This gets Cas’ attention, and it’s enough to get him to squirm and then open his eyes, smiling and trying to evade Dean’s fingers.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean says quietly enough that the petname goes unheard by the other occupants of the room. Sam and Sarah are sitting on the couch with cups of coffee, both absorbed in whatever is on TV.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas responds, just as quietly. He looks at the tray in Dean’s hands and raises his eyebrows. “You…?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Sarah. She’s a gift,” he says with a grin, and Cas nods sleepily in agreement before stretching his limbs wide and sitting up, scooting in next to Dean and dragging the tray over their laps. They eat quietly, shoulders pressed together, and Dean doesn’t notice at first that Cas is watching him thoughtfully. He stops in the middle of chewing a mouthful of omelet when he does, eyebrows arching up in question.

“I’m trying to determine whether or not you’re well enough to leave the house,” Cas says in reply to Dean’s unspoken inquiry.

Dean swallows his bite of food before snorting and rolling his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he says, and Cas stares at him blankly.

“If I thought your word could be trusted on it, I would have asked,” he explains, eyes steadily trained on Dean as though if he ups the intensity level on the gaze it’ll help him answer his question. Dean stares right back because, well… he likes staring at Cas.

“I’m  _fine_ ,” Dean insists, and when Cas doesn’t look swayed, Dean switches tactics. He’s not half as good at puppy dog eyes as Cas and Sam are, but he’s certainly not a stranger to the art of the pout. He lets his lower lip pucker out just the slightest bit and pins Cas with wide green eyes, and Cas’ resolve is practically a tangible thing crumbling.

“Please, Cas? I want to pick out a tree with you.” Dean typically saves his manners for sex, but he’s not above making exceptions. Cas’ brow wrinkles with indecision.

“Will you two please save the laser eyes for when you  _don’t_  have company?” Sam whines from across the couch, and Dean loses his puppy dog pout and Cas seems to reel in his uncertainty.

“My apologies,” Cas says, effectively debasing Dean’s intended denial of there having been any ‘laser eyes’ in the first place. “May I suggest we all vote on Dean’s ability to leave the house?”

Dean groans.

“That’s not fair,” he protests. “I’m outnumbered. Can’t we just skip this part and get in the car? I promise I won’t go out again until we’re heading to the airport.” There’s a pause as everyone exchanges looks.  _“Come on,_ ” Dean snaps, annoyed, and finally Sam shrugs and seems to have some sort of silent conversation with Sarah. She nods, smiling at Dean.

“I vote yes,” she says. “I say he should go.”

“This is ridiculous,” Dean mutters, but Sam surprises him by chiming in his assent as well, and Cas begrudgingly agrees once he sees that he’s outnumbered. The only matter left, then, is that of changing the dressing on Dean’s wounds. Sam and Sarah politely duck out to have coffee together at a nearby café, which Dean is grateful for. He usually doesn’t mind the size of the tiny flat he shares with Cas – having grown up in motels, this could practically be considered spacious – but moments like these make him wish they had a bigger place to live.

“Lay down,” Cas instructs gently as he walks in from the kitchen, drying his hands on his pants. Dean does as he’s instructed and lays on his stomach, settling his face into a pillow as he hears Cas behind him, setting up a bag to put the bloodied dressings and laying out new bandages to use when the other ones have been removed. Then Cas crawls onto the bed, straddling Dean’s thighs. At first, Cas’ fingers trace the outline of Dean’s bandages delicately, as though he’s afraid of hurting Dean. In truth, Dean’s back is aching and even the slight touch feels like it’s throbbing. Still, Dean hates being treated like he’s breakable and wishes he could tell Cas he’s overdoing it – but of course, he’s not.

Cas’ cautious fingers slowly remove Dean’s bandages, the tape peeling off his skin, thankfully, without catching. He hisses a sharp breath inward when the wound hits open air, and hears Cas draw in his breath just as sharply. Dean realizes he’s never seen the wound himself; he wasn’t sure if Cas had seen it while he was unconscious, either, but the way Cas’ hands freeze and go tense against Dean’s back lead him to believe that Cas hadn’t before this moment. There’s a period of tense and awkward silence where Dean waits and Cas doesn’t move at all. Dean tries to cut through the awkward with an off chuckle.

“Is it that bad?” he asks, smiling sheepishly into his pillow.

“It doesn’t matter how it looks,” Cas says, voice sounding tight and strained. “It just matters that you’re here.”

Dean knows that the implication behind ‘ _here’_  is an unspoken ‘ _and not dead’._

“I love you,” Dean murmurs, because he knows Cas will bat off any further apologies. Cas responds by pressing a kiss to the nape of Dean’s neck and then kissing down his spine, stopping where the bandages go. Then Cas leans back and Dean feels a warm, damp cloth delicately cleaning his skin in tiny, soothing circles. Cas is meticulous and gentle and Dean finds himself relaxing against the mattress, body going limp as Cas takes care of him.

Soon enough, the wound is thoroughly cleaned and Cas is reapplying a new set of bandages. He kisses the bandaged area once he’s done, and Dean takes this as a sign that it’s okay to slowly sit up. Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him in for a hug, burying his face in Dean’s neck. Cas kisses the skin below Dean’s jaw and Dean sighs discontentedly because he wishes the big tears in his back weren’t there to prevent him from turning the kiss into something more intimate. Cas seems to understand the sentiment because he draws away and affectionately ruffles his hands through Dean’s short, sandy hair, smiling softly at him.

“You’ll be well soon,” Cas tells him, and there’s  _promise_  in the way he voice dips just slightly lower, and Dean shivers.

“Not soon enough,” Dean mutters, and Cas laughs.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Cas says, getting off the bed to rummage through their dresser and pull out clothes for Dean. He gingerly helps Dean into a green sweater and a pair of jeans before pulling on his own sweater – a hideous tan and white thing featuring dark blue deer silhouettes – and helping Dean out of bed. They’re just pulling on hats and gloves as Sam and Sarah arrive, and the four of them pile into the car. Dean sits in the back with Cas, trying not to pout about not being allowed to drive, even though he knows he’s capable of it. The trip to where the trees are sold is a short one, though, so he doesn’t have much time to sulk.

Cas and Sarah are one in the conviction that the tree should be as tall and wide as possible, though Sam and Dean point out that the flat’s front entrance isn’t exactly the biggest. There is a veritable forest of Christmas trees available at the outdoor roadside shop they stop at, and Cas and Sarah beeline to the back where the monstrous ones are kept. There’s no way any of these will fit inside, but neither of them seem to care. They wonder through the towering firs and with looks of delight that match, despite being expressed different. Sarah has a wide grin and Cas’ smile is small and subtle, but happiness rolls off them both in waves.

“Are you looking for a tree too,  _Cassy-ell_?” asks a tiny, familiar voice from somewhere unseen amongst the trees. Dean and Cas look around excitedly, but don’t manage to find Lyric until her arms are wrapped around either of their legs. They look down at her fondly and she looks up excitedly, toothy grin showing off a gap where she’s lost a tooth. Dean ruffles her loose hair and Cas picks her up, holding her close.

“Look, Cas, you caught a Christmas elf,” Dean says, winking at Lyric, who bursts into a fit of giggles and squirms.

“I’m not an elf! I’m Lyric!” she insists, and Cas smiles and kisses her cheek, and it’s weird to see Cas kissing anyone but Dean. It’s a good feeling, seeing it, though, and Dean feels warm all over.

“Of course you are, Lyric. You are my favorite little girl. Dean is being silly,” Cas says, and she smiles ear to ear. Dean rolls his eyes.

“You’re no fun,” he tells Dean. Jayne emerges from amongst other trees, then, wearing a smile that matches her daughter’s down to the dimples. She’s got a Santa hat on that Dean is pretty sure Lyric talked her into, and both mother and daughter are wearing ugly Christmas sweaters that are suspiciously similar to Cas’. Two uniformed men carrying a Christmas tree are following her.

“You guys out tree shopping, too?” Dean asks, eyeing the tree. It looks appropriately large, and Dean’s glad; their new house is big enough for it, and it’d be a damn shame if they didn’t make the absolute best of the space.

“Our first real tree,” Jayne says, looking much younger for a moment, and almost as excited as her small daughter.

“I’m real happy for you,” Dean says with conviction, smiling so hard it almost hurts his face.

“Where do you want this tree, miss?” one of the store workers asks gruffly and she directs them to her car, promising to be there to pay in a moment.

“How’s the new house?” Dean asks Jayne conversationally as they all wander through the trees, looking for their own tree. Lyric makes a face.

“I don’t like it. It’s  _scary,_ ” Lyric mumbles quietly to Cas in a stage whisper that everyone hears. Jayne frowns.

“It’s a good house,” Jayne says hesitantly. “It just… y’know, it’s an old house. Our last apartment was tiny but it was new, so Lyric’s used to that style of house. It gets drafty sometimes and when the lights are off, it’s pitch black. Just some stuff to get used to. It really is a great house,” Jayne insists.

“It makes weird noises,” Lyric adds unhappily, though the pout on her lips is more endearing than concerning.

“I told you, baby, it’s just the house setting,” she says, shaking her head gently like this is conversation they’ve had a million times. Dean’s about to inquire a little more just to ease his own paranoid mind – too many years of hunting monsters will do that to a guy – but the store workers call her over impatiently to pay for her tree and she takes Lyric back from Cas, smiling fondly at them.

“It was very nice seeing you,” she says, and Lyric grins wide and waves at them excitedly before they leave. Dean doesn’t feel entirely at ease about the conversation, and he watches them uncertainly as they walk away. He’s about to say as much to Cas when Cas grabs his hands and squeezes it.

“There,” Cas says, pointing to a specific tree. One look already says that it’s perfect. It’s the right height, borderline too tall but Dean thinks it’ll fit. It’s thicker than most, but just wide enough that it’ll fit through the door with ease. His eyes meet Dean and there’s a silent agreement there, and when Cas sees it his chest puffs up with excitement.

They call Sam and Sarah over, and their reactions are just as instantaneously pleased. They don’t bother searching anymore, because nothing they could find would top this. It’s paid for and attached to the Impala in a matter of minutes, and before long they’re heading home with the tree strapped to their car. Dean and Cas hold hands the whole short ride home, leaning into each other comfortably.

*

They spend the rest of the afternoon doing everything Dean has deemed to fall under the category of ‘Christmas Stuff’. The four of them decorate the tree, although Cas and Sarah have most say in what goes where. Dean doesn’t mind, though; it’s fun to be part of something, and the tree ends up looking beautiful under their direction. It’s something straight out of a movie, and even more impressive than last year. There’s popcorn garland hanging from the branches – garland Sam and Dean strung themselves – and thick red ribbons tucked into green all throughout. There are ornaments of varying sizes and colors, all of them ornate and handpicked by Cas. It stands in the frame of the window and its cheery lights can be seen from outside, completing their Christmasy atmosphere.

They all sit back and stare at their handiwork with pride when it’s done, sipping hot chocolate on the couch and eating gingerbread cookies they all made together in the kitchen. Dean’s getting tired after a mandatory dose of pain medications and keeps finding himself nodding off on Cas’ shoulder. Sarah lights Cas’ plethora of Christmas candles, turns on the TV and shuts off the lights and the four of them watch Home Alone, laughing at the hilarity of how civilian children react to no parental supervision. Dean doesn’t intend to fall asleep there, but the next thing he knows all the candles are out and he’s being shifted so that he’s laying down and Cas is close beside him.

It’s better than last year in a million ways, though it seems wrong to compare anything to their first Christmas together. This tree may look more impressive, but it’s not the thing that brought them together, that pitiful, laughable thing that had clearly been decorated by two then-bachelors. And it’s great to be spending so much time with Sam and Sarah, but those first shy moments Dean and Cas had spent alone together, skirting mistletoe and feelings, had been special in and of themselves. Dean’s grateful for both, and thankful that this is where his year has brought him.

*

Sam and Sarah’s flight to Bobby’s on Christmas Eve departs at an unholy time in the morning, and they’re up and getting ready to go before Dean’s even remotely prepared to wake up. He tugs a pillow over his eyes irritably as they get together as quickly and quietly as possible. They whisper goodbyes and slip out the door with much more stealth and grace than Dean could have accomplished in their position, and soon enough Cas and Dean are left in darkness and quiet.

“You up, Cas?” Dean grumbles. Cas nods sleepily.

“We should go to Jane and Lyric’s today and build Lyric’s treehouse, as a Christmas present,” Dean comments absently, tracing blind circles in Cas’ skin.

“I like that idea,” Cas agrees tiredly. “You’re sure you’re feeling well enough to do that?”

Dean huffs.

“It’s been over a week since the son of a bitch got me, man, I’m fine. I’ll just let you carry the heavy stuff,” he adds begrudgingly, because while he’s totally sure he’s fine to do this, the idea of lifting anything heavier than Lyric still makes him wince.

“I suppose that’s alright,” Cas concedes. “Now go back to sleep.”

Dean does as he’s told, letting his eyes fall closed as he snuggles in close to Cas. When he next opens his eyes, the sun is high in the sky and Cas is already up, playing Christmas music from the kitchen where he’s probably making breakfast. Dean tiptoes up to the kitchen, half-hoping to catch Cas singing again, but he finds Cas squinting at a recipe book, wooden spoon in hand.

“What’re you up to, my little chef?” Dean asks, padding into the kitchen and taking a seat on one of the counters.

“I’m not little,” Cas says distractedly. “I’m making us gingerbread pancakes because it’s Christmas Eve.”

“That sounds amazing,” Dean says, subconsciously licking his lips. Cas looks up just then and tracks the motion with his eyes, and Dean watches the other man swallow hard. Dean can’t fight the grin on his face.

“I am so well enough for some Christmas sex tonight,” he says, and Cas’ ears go slightly red. Cas clears his throat.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even. Dean waves him off.

“Yeah, yeah. Once your dick’s in my mouth I doubt you’ll be in much the mood to resist any more. It’s been  _agony_ , Cas, seriously.”

Cas stares at him, eyes dark, before clearing his throat once more.

“We’ll see,” he insists stubbornly. Dean just chuckles and shakes his head, and Cas goes back to his cooking. Dean’s surprised to find that that it’s already noon, and that once they’ve finished eating they’ve got to pack and then head to Jane and Lyric’s if they’re going to make their 7pm flight. He mentions as much to Cas, who shoos him off to start packing while he finishes cooking.

Dean’s got half a bag packed when Cas summons him in for breakfast, which is startlingly good, though by now Dean should know better than to be taken off guard by how good Cas’ cooking is. They don’t take as much time to enjoy it as they normally would, though, what with the reality of their time constraints having finally set in. They just short of scarf it before darting back into the main room to finish packing.

Thankfully their trip isn’t going to be more than a few days and doesn’t require any thoughtful packing, particularly for two men used to packing up all their belongings and moving to a new hotel on the drop of a dime, any given day. They’re out of the house soon enough, and Dean tries not to let himself get overwhelmed by the fact that it’s Christmas Eve and Cas is wearing the same winged sweater Dean gave him last year.

There’s a small wrapped box in Cas’ hands containing their gift for Jayne. It’s a necklace, an expensive diamond-studded one that they saved up to get for her. It features two wings that dangle from a thin silver chain and make a faint tinkling noise when they tap together. While Jayne may not ever understand the significance of wings to Dean and Cas, they hope somehow the message will still come through. Cas’ wings were his most valued things; to give this necklace to Jayne is their way of saying that she and Lyric have become the same to them. Lyric’s present resting in the backseat is far less deep. While the tree house is certainly the main event, they couldn’t keep from buying her the giant teddy bear that caught their eye the last time they went shopping. It’s about a foot shorter than she is and just as wide. It’s got soft brown fur and button eyes, and Dean hopes it’ll help her be less scared at night.

 Dean cuts the engine when they pull up to the house and instantly, something feels off. Dean’s not sure what it is, only that there’s a sick, lurching feeling of dread sinking from his throat to his stomach, making every hair on his skin stand on end. He looks at Cas and finds an expression that must reflect his own – pale face, tense shoulders and hands balled up tight. Cas holds the look a long moment before looking out the window, and the way his mouth drops and his eyes widen has Dean ripping off his seatbelt and forcing open his door in a millisecond.

What Dean sees makes his blood run cold.

There’s smoke and flame raging behind one of the second floor windows and  _Lyric_ is at it, tiny fists pounding wildly at the glass, mouth open in a scream that Dean and Cas can’t hear from where they are.  It takes barely a breath for Dean to compose himself before he and Cas are both racing toward the house. Lyric’s voice echoes in Dean’s mind and he can’t get over how fucking  _stupid_  he was. All the warning signs had been there. Cold spots, strange noises, an eerie feeling…

_I don’t like it. It’s scary._

Dean’s not ready to lose anyone else he loves to flames or the supernatural.

They burst into the front door – which is, thankfully, unlocked – and both instinctively look at each other. There’s smoke coursing through the house and the lights are out, making it difficult to see. A terrible scream echoes through the house and Dean feels his heart turn to lead.

It’s Jayne.

They both take off toward the fiery inferno that is Jayne’s room. Dean runs as fast as his legs can carry him up the stairs that creak loudly under his feet, stairs that have become so familiar in such a short amount of time. Jayne’s door is shut and the doorknob is hot to the touch once they arrive. On a hunch, Dean rams his whole body into the door; it splinters under the combined stress of the heat from the fire and his weight. Flames crackle everywhere, washing the room in a sickening orange haze that has Dean one yellow-eyed demon short of a flashback.

_“Dean!”_  screeches a tiny, familiar force that makes Dean’s heart break. Lyric’s curled up in a ball by the window, shoulders shaking with terror and sobs so pronounced that such a tiny body shouldn’t be able to make them. Dean and Cas rush through the flames to her side and Dean scoops her up, cradling her close.

“Where’s your mom, Lyric?” Dean shouts over the roar of the flames, and Lyric points a trembling finger towards her closet. A quick glance shows that it’s the source of the flames. Dean can picture the scene perfectly, now: Lyric, insisting there was something in her closet. Jayne, ever the patient and kindhearted mother, walking into the closet to prove that Lyric’s fears were in vain. And then the horrible moment where Lyric’s every nightmare came true – a poltergeist, most likely, bursting forth to smother her mother in flames. Cas rushes for the closet even though they both know there’s no use. Dean grabs Cas’ arm to shake him out of it and they flee the room just as more flames burst forth, engulfing all that remains.

They burst through the front door just as a fire truck is pulling up. A small crowd has gathered around the steadily building fire and Dean realizes that the hunt isn’t technically done, that the house is still haunted and more people could get hurt. In this moment, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything else but the small and trembling human being in his arms. One of the firefighters approaches them, asks if they need an ambulance, if there’s anyone else inside, but Dean can’t speak. He listens numbly as Cas explains that no, they’ll drive Lyric to the hospital and no, there is no one left alive inside, as though he’s not a part of the scene at all.

Dean passes Lyric to Cas when he climbs into the driver’s seat, still unable to do much but move on autopilot, listening to Cas’ directions like an obedient child. Lyric’s arms are wrapped tight around Cas’ neck and Cas is rubbing circles in her back, whispering things to her. Dean doesn’t know what Cas is saying, thinks it might be Enochian, can’t get a grip enough to try and figure it out. He follows the road and thinks of the necklace in the box at Cas’ feet.

He cries.

*

Lyric’s pediatrician declares her free of smoke inhalation or burns and releases her into Dean and Cas’ care. It’s surprisingly easy to convince anyone official that might ask that Lyric is their niece, and that they have custody; the words “house fire” seem to have some sort of magical effect to them, endearing the listener to the speaker immediately. Dean’s grateful for it. He doesn’t have the energy now to put into lying convincingly.

They go home, back to Dean and Cas’ flat, with Dean carrying Lyric and Cas carrying in her big teddy bear from the backseat. Cas plugs in the tree and lights candles even though it’s not quite evening yet when they arrive, and Dean settles into the couch, holding Lyric. Cas joins them and envelops them both in his arms, and he feels as strong and safe as Dean  _needs_  right now, as Lyric surely needs. She hasn’t spoken once since they saved her.

The three of them stay like this for a long while, until finally Lyric speaks, almost inaudibly.

“Monster got Mama,” she whimpers, tiny tears escaping her eyes and slipping down her cheeks. Dean and Cas exchange a look – because this is way out of their realm of ability. They’re babysitters, not fathers. They don’t know how to talk about big things like death and monsters being real. It’s not in their job description. Cas looks even more at a loss than Dean feels, though, and Dean figures it’s about time he tried to force the gears in his brain to work again.

“Yeah, Lee, there was a monster,” Dean tells her quietly, stroking her hair, and winces as she bristles at what is probably the first adult acknowledgment of monsters in her life. “He was mean and scary and he… hurt her. But you’re safe now, me and Cas have got you. This won’t ever happen again.”

Lyric breathes in a shaky little sigh, new tears bubbling up and spilling over.

“Mama said – she said there was no such thing as… she said monsters weren’t  _real_ ,” Lyric insists brokenly, small features torn with the stress of a child struggling to understand what not even adults should have to know.

“She thought they weren’t real, Lee. She didn’t know. Most grownups think it’s pretend. A lot of it  _is_  pretend. They don’t know what me and Cas know.”

“And me,” Lyric adds unhappily, shoulders sagging. Dean sighs, wiping stray tears from her face.

“And you,” he echoes hollowly. “I’m sorry, Lyric.”

Cas shifts and presses a kiss to her hair before reaching past them for the remote control on the table. He clicks on the TV and swiftly channel surfs to the nearest station playing holiday movies. Dean sighs in relief that it’s something familiar, something they’ve seen a million times. If he’d been asked earlier that day, he’d probably have said that Rudolph was trying his last nerve… but now, he couldn’t describe his gratitude of hearing the fictional reindeer’s stuffy voice.

Cas slips out of the room to the kitchen, and Dean hears him talking on the phone, probably with Sam. Then there are cabinets opening and the tick of the stove as it turns on. Dean hopes Cas isn’t making food; he couldn’t stomach it. He can’t think about much past the little girl in his arms without feeling a dull ache settling in his chest so wide it threatens to swallow him up. The ache throbs every time he thinks of long, dark brown hair and tired mother’s eyes. He knows he’s not supposed to blame himself, knows that sometimes these things just  _happen_ , but he can’t help but think of how different things would have been if they’d shown up just five minutes earlier.

Cas returns with three mugs of hot chocolate, looking tired with red eyes and a seemingly permanent slump to his shoulders. He places the three mugs on the coffee table, sighing heavily as he sits beside them and gives Lyric a long look, brows knit together in concern. Only then does Dean realize that Lyric has fallen asleep.

“I spoke with Sam,” Cas tells Dean quietly, throat sounding more hoarse than Dean expected. “He and Sarah think we should bring Lyric and go to Bobby’s as planned.”

Dean breathes in deep and nods.

“Kid sure deserves the closest thing to Christmas as we can give her,” he agrees, just as quiet. “Maybe a plane ride and a new setting will distract her.”

Cas reaches forward and gently touches Dean’s face. Dean instinctively leans into the touch, closing his eyes. The sturdy reassurance of Cas’ hand is so welcome that Dean wishes he could just lose himself in it. For a moment, he’s able to forget the weighty realities that are trying to crush him.

“The two of us as well, Dean,” Cas adds. “I think we all could use a distraction.”

Dean doesn’t say anything or open his eyes, just quietly tries to take all the comfort he can out of Cas’ simple touch. He decides that they can get through this – and more importantly, they can get Lyric through this. Starting with Christmas.

“Sam is searching online for another ticket on our flight. He’s going to email us the itinerary,” Cas says after a moment. “It’s nearly five, we should go if we’re going to make it to the airport in time.”

They pack a small bag of extra t-shirts and sweaters for Lyric to wear until they can make it to a store to buy her clothes. It remains to be seen whether any of her things survived the fire, but Dean’s in no hurry to find out. Hell, he’d be fine if they  _never_  found out, never went back to that house or that street again. It’s hard enough trying not to think about  _her_ – Dean can’t bring himself to think her name – without being assaulted with reminders of her.

Lyric sleeps the whole ride to the airport, curled up in Cas’ lap with a thumb in her mouth.

*

The only upside to losing a loved one is that airplanes seem like much less of a big deal. Dean takes pain killers and sleeps through the four and a half hour flight, oblivious to any turbulence. He wakes only when Cas and Lyric shake him gently, alerting him that the plane has landed. Around them, people are standing and gathering their things. Cas carries Lyric out and Dean grabs their suitcases. They packed light enough to avoid the hassle of the baggage claim, and are able to go straight from the gate to the pick-up point

Sam pulls up just as they make it outside, and he looks so tense and worried that for a brief, absurd moment, Dean wants to comfort  _him_. Big brother instincts die hard, Dean guesses. Sam bounds out of the car and wraps Dean in a big hug the first second he can, putting his whole being into comforting Dean. It’s just like Sam to _get_ it, that quickly, to understand that Jayne wasn’t just some civilian or just the mother of Dean’s favorite little girl. She was family, and Sam understands. He’s got hugs for Cas and Lyric, too, and they all pile into one of Bobby’s spare junker cars and head for Singer Salvage. It’s strange to see Lyric, usually so bright and talkative, looking so defeated and silent.

 The trip from the airport to Singer Salvage is a short one, though it may seem especially so because it’s dark and Dean’s not paying attention to the time or distance passing. To his surprise, instead of pulling up to the house, Sam drives into the junkyard. The junkyard is nothing but a dark mass of spare parts that tower everywhere, and it would be impossible to see anything if not for the headlights on the car. Beside him, Lyric draws herself closer, clearly frightened, as Sam parks the car. Dean’s about to be annoyed with Sam for scaring the poor kid when, suddenly, the whole place is engulfed in light.

Christmas lights hang from every looming pile of scrap, effectively turning Singer Salvage into a winter wonderland. Dean realizes for the first time that there’s a faint dusting of snow everywhere, too – nothing major, but combined with the beautiful, unexpected surprise of the lights, it looks almost magical. Lyric’s mouth is wide open and she’s smiling for the first time tonight. Cas’ eyes are lit up like he wants to smile, too, and Dean’s surprised when he realizes he himself is grinning. It looks beautiful, and is clearly a labor of several hours’ time. Sam, Sarah and Bobby were probably working on this since the moment they got the awful news.

“Am I at the North Pole?” Lyric asks, eyes wide as saucers. Dean laughs.

“I don’t know, kid,” Dean says, giving her a squeeze. “Might be. We probably won’t see Santa, though, he’s kinda busy this time of year –”

“Hey, sounds like you could use a little faith, Dean,” Sam says with a wink as he gets out of the car, opening the door for Lyric. Lyric hops out excitedly and pins Sam with her wide eyes.

“Is Santa here?” she asks him, and he scoops her up and smiles at her.

“I don’t know, let’s go see,” Sam says conspiringly. He carries her toward Bobby’s house and Dean and Cas follow. The house, too, is lit up, and Dean thinks they must have enlisted help from half the neighborhood to get this much done. When Dean finally sees what Sam is alluding to, though, he can’t help but burst into laughter.

Bobby’s sitting in a big, high-backed chair that’s been decorated with garland, lights and ribbons. This in itself would be funny, but Bobby looks so ridiculous that Dean doesn’t even notice the chair. Instead, what has him laughing sooner than he ever hoped he’d be able to laugh again is Bobby’s  _outfit_. He’s dressed like Santa Claus from head to toe, red suit and white beard and all. The beard is fantastic and effectively hides most of his face; Dean almost didn’t recognize him, and Lyric surely won’t.

“Santa!” she screeches excitedly, squirming in Sam’s arms. He lets her down and she races to Bobby, planting herself in his lap.

“Ho ho ho,” Bobby says, and sounds pretty damn convincing at that. “Hello, little girl.”

“Santa – wow, Santa, um. Hi! I’m Lyric.” The rush of happiness Dean feels at seeing such lightness and innocence on Lyric’s face after such a horrific day is overwhelming. He could kiss them for this, all of them.

“I know who you are,” Bobby says warmly, still careful to disguise his voice so that Lyric won’t recognize it later, when he’s not in costume. “Of course I’d know the name of the nicest little girl on the whole nice list.”

Lyric sucks in a huge breath at this, like it’s more news than she can possibly take in.

“Me?”

“Yep, you’re it. So what do you want for Christmas, li’l one?”

Lyric’s expression sags just the slightest at that question.

“I mostly just want my mama,” she tells him, staring at her hands. “But I know that you don’t know how to do that. I’m real glad I’m with Dean and Cassy-ell, though, ‘cause they’ll keep me safe. That was a really good Christmas surprise. Thanks, Santa.”

Bobby looks at a loss for a moment, and Dean feels bad for the guy. Playing Santa to a girl who’s just lost her mom is kind of a tall order. Bobby takes it in stride, though, and pats her on the shoulder and smiles.

“No problem, kiddo. But how ‘bout something in the present department? Ain’t there anything you want wrapped up under the tree?”

Dean’s pretty sure Lyric could ask for an elephant and he’d find a way to get it for her. The moon, the stars, anything she wanted. She looks pensive for a moment, and it breaks Dean’s heart that they’ve got a five-year-old on their hands who can’t even remember what she wants for Christmas.

“Maybe a pirate,” she says finally. “Or a dinosaur.”

Bobby nods thoughtfully, and Dean takes note of both.

“I’ll see what we can get ya, kiddo. Just make sure you sleep well tonight, y’hear?”

Lyric nods dutifully. She’s about to hop off his lap when something seems to occur to her and she leans forward and whispers something to him that Dean can’t hear. She doesn’t wait for a response, just darts over to Dean and raises her arms for him to pick her up. He does so and she tucks her face into his neck, yawning. It’s been a tiring day, and Dean thinks it’s about time she got some rest.

*

Dean and Cas lay with Lyric until she’s fast asleep, and only dare to leave the guest bedroom she’s sleeping in once she’s been out for a solid 20 minutes. Dean has no idea what time it is, only that it’s very late and he hasn’t the slightest clue how he’s going to find a store that’s open at this time on Christmas Eve. He’ll drive for hours if he has to, though; there’s no way Lyric’s waking up on Christmas morning without toys. Especially not after all this.

Thankfully, he and Cas bump into Sam and Sarah on their way to the next bedroom, and they’re both carrying armfuls of presents.

“You guys get some rest, okay?” Sarah tells him gently. “We made sure Lyric’s got plenty of presents – including a pirate doll and a robot dinosaur toy. We figured you’d be tired by now…”

Dean can’t help but hug her.

“Thanks guys,” he says, annoyed at the treasonous lump in his throat. “For everything. She…  _we_  needed this.”

Sarah smiles.

“That’s what family’s for, Dean,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. “Now get some sleep. Lyric will be up before you know it.”

They all exchange goodnights and head to their separate destinations. Lyric’s currently in the room Dean and Cas were originally going to share, but it was decided that after such a trying day that some privacy for the two of them was in order and Sam and Sarah offered to share an air mattress in the living room to free up the other guest bedroom. Dean figures tomorrow they’ll share a room with Lyric, but for now he’s grateful for the chance to be alone with Cas.

As soon as the door is closed behind him, Cas is on him, mouth connecting with Dean’s as his hands travel beneath Dean’s shirt to rest on his hips. He rubs circles into Dean’s hips before dipping his thumbs below the waistband of his jeans, bringing his lips to Dean’s ear.

“Let me make it better,” he whispers, making Dean shudder. It’s an offer Cas can’t entirely fill, and both of them know it, but  _better_ is relative and Cas can make him feel good for a brief respite between awful pangs of overwhelming feeling. Dean nods and Cas tugs Dean’s shirt over his head and then casts it aside before falling to his knees, fingers unbuttoning Dean’s jeans and pulling them down over his hips.

Dean leans his head back against the door and lets himself get lost in the sensation of Cas’ mouth swallowing him up, taking him far from this screwed up situation. He hooks a leg over Cas’ shoulder and pumps his hips in a slow rhythm, earning appreciative groans from Cas, blissed out as Dean fucks his stretched-out mouth, spit pooling at his lips. Dean’s orgasm is explosive and overwhelming and spreads this his body in warm waves as he comes down Cas’ throat.

Once he’s composed himself, he leads Cas to the bed and strips him of his layers one by one, feeling him up as he goes, palming his crotch roughly and making him moan Dean’s name brokenly in between pleas and whimpers. Dean lays Cas out on the bed with his feet hanging over the edge, legs spread wide, and falls to his knees between them. He grips the base of Cas’ dick and returns the favor, pulling him as deep down his throat as he can manage, eager to make this all  _better_  with his body, to ease Cas’ grief and uncertainty because that’s what they  _do_  for each other.

Cas comes with a shout, smoothing a hand over Dean’s hair repeatedly, fingers flexing like he wants to pull but doesn’t want to, given the circumstances. Dean swallows as much as he can, eyes shut tight and mouth wide. Once Cas’ body has shuddered to completion, Dean kisses his way back up to Cas’ mouth, covering every inch of Cas’ skin. He mouths at the inside of Cas’ thighs, his hips, his stomach, tongue dipping into his navel before traveling up. They kiss gently, holding each other tightly, clinging as hard as they can as though pressure and closeness can make everything okay again.

By the time Dean falls asleep, everything’s still not okay – but it’s better than it was, just as Cas promised. And in this late and hazy moment, it’s more than enough.

*

Dean gets maybe three hours of sleep before he hears his door opening and Lyric softly calling their names. He quickly grabs at the sheets because  _holy shit, five-year-old in his room and he’s completely naked._ She’s staring expectantly at him, bouncing eagerly from foot to foot.

“Dean, Cassy-ell, it’s  _Christmas_! Maybe Santa came?

“He sure as hell did, Lyric. The tree’s downstairs, why don’t you run down? Me and Cas will join you in a minute.”

Lyric nods excitedly and skips off. Dean breathes a sigh of relief and slumps into the mattress beside Cas, who’s stretching and yawning. There’s a brief moment where Dean’s not thinking of Jayne, just thinking about the way the early vestiges of morning light dances across Cas’ face and the excited look in Lyric’s eyes before she bounded off. Jayne seeps back into his consciousness in tiny ripples and he tries to ignore it and just  _enjoy the day, goddammit_. Cas catches Dean watching him and he smiles softly, and Dean thinks maybe he might be able to.

Once they’re decent, clothed with come scraped off incriminating areas, they shuffle downstairs, where Lyric has pulled all her presents into a small pile. It’s a pretty sizable pile and Dean makes a note to pay Sam back for it later. Already, Lyric feels like she somehow belong to himself and Cas. She hasn’t opened anything yet, and she’s sitting before the pile, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“I was waiting for you!” she declares enthusiastically once they join her in the living room.

“Well, we’re here. Go for it, kiddo,” Dean says, and Lyric tears into the first present. Cas sits cross-legged beside her, collecting wrapping paper as she goes, and Dean wanders into the kitchen to make coffee because it is goddamn early and he’s still exhausted from the day before. The machine hums familiarly and it’s comforting. There’s a small part of him that wants to make it Irish coffee and drink away all these awful feelings nagging at him, but… there’s a little girl and a fallen angel in the other room who are counting on him to be strong, and he can’t do it. He’s going to take this a day at a time and live in the moment, because it’s all he can do.

He’s surprised to find Cas behind him when he turns around – Cas still has his superhuman ability to sneak up on people, particularly Dean – and he breaks into a smile when he sees that Cas is holding mistletoe. He crosses the room and holds it over their heads and kisses Dean, one hand one the back of his neck. Dean all but melts into the kiss, happy at how familiar and nostalgic it feels to kiss under the mistletoe. They lean into each other and kiss and kiss, smiling stupidly at each other before finally breaking away. Cas’ face takes on a more serious expression after that, and Dean swallows because he knows it’s the face Cas uses when they’re about to discuss important things.

“What are we going to do about Lyric, Dean?” Cas asks quietly, glancing over his shoulder as though he’s afraid Lyric will wander in at any moment. Which, yeah, not exactly the most unfounded fear in the world. Cas’ arms are draped around Dean’s neck and he’s holding him at arm’s length, looking at him thoughtfully. Dean tries to process the question.

“What do you mean?” he asks, when his brain has decided that it’s going to take a rain-check.

“Lyric, Dean. She has no other family. We’re all she has.” There’s a heavy weight behind Cas’ words, implications and a loaded question and Dean swallows because this is it, this is the moment his life changes irrevocably forever. He searches Cas’ eyes, taking a moment to admire the fascinating blue of them while he tries to collect himself, and finally Dean shuts his eyes and breathes in deep. He opens his eyes when he lets out the breath.

“I want to keep her,” Dean says finally, voice quavering because he’s said it, he’s made the biggest commitment of his life and he’s terrified.

Cas’ mouth falls open just the slightest bit, but to his credit he composes himself quickly enough. He nods in agreement and something twists in Dean’s chest that he can’t name.

“So do I,” Cas says, and his words are more strong and firm than Dean feels and Dean takes comfort in it. Cas never does anything halfway, not learning to cook or rebelling against heaven or falling in love – and he’s showing that same sense of purpose and resolution right now. Dean wants to reflect it, and knows that in time he will.

“Everything’s gonna change, huh?” Dean asks, letting his worry slip through in his voice and his facial expression.

“Yes,” Cas replies. “For the better, perhaps. I think we may need Lyric as much as she needs us.”  

Dean thinks this makes sense. For so long, Dean and Cas have been on the precipice of  _something_ , so close to some new and uncharted chapter of their lives, but something in Dean has always held them back. Now, he has no choice to delve into unfamiliar territory. It’s time, though. Dean knows it’s time. He doesn’t know what to say, though, so he takes the mistletoe from Cas and dangles it over them again, earning a small smile from Cas. They kiss again, leaning into each other and teetering slightly on their feet, until a tiny voice interrupts them.

“Eww!” Lyric exclaims. Dean and Cas break the kiss and look up in unison to find Lyric hovering in the doorway, clutching an armful of toys. Her face is scrunched up in childish disgust, and Dean has to laugh.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Dean says. “Cas is super hot so sometimes I haveta kiss him. Might have to get used to it since you’re going to be living with us now.”

Cas goes slightly pink at this and shoves Dean halfheartedly. Lyric, however, has a wide grin lighting up her face and her grip on her toys seems dangerously close to giving way.

“I’m gonna live with you now?” she squeals, and rushes at them to hug them. They both scoop her up and hold her close between them, and Dean decides right then and there to throw all hesitancy out the window. This is his family now – his boyfriend and his makeshift daughter clinging to each other in a kitchen in the early hours of the morning. It’s broken in the way that most things in Dean’s life are broken, but it’s… good. Solid. A foundation that can be built on, and Dean’s ready to start construction. He’s tired of being afraid and running from feelings and commitment. He’s finally ready to grow up.

“Yes you are, Lyric. We’re going to adopt you.”

Dean can see the Christmas tree in the other room out of the corner of his eye, and he feels a rush of gratitude – because all of this started with a tree. If Cas hadn’t asked for it, if Dean hadn’t caved… who knows where they’d be right now? Dean could never love another day of the year so much. Suddenly, something dawns on him and he grins.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, waggling an eyebrow.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas responds, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“Happy anniversary.”

Cas’ eyes go wide and a smile plays at the edges of his lips.

“A whole year,” he says, incredulous, blue eyes staring deep into green, alive with a flurry of emotion.

“Here’s to many more,” Dean says – and again, it’s a commitment. The words are big and heavy in his mouth, but there’s no piece of him that regrets it.

“A lifetime,” Dean adds, because he wants to make  _sure_ Cas understands the magnitude of what he’s saying. And maybe it’s not a marriage proposal and maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s a start. Dean may never get on one knee and pop the question, but this much he can do. This much he can promise.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas says, voice falling to an awed whisper that leaves Dean’s heart doing backflips.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” he echoes, and he thinks they might be three of his favorite words.

“Merry Christmas, everybody!” Lyric squeals excitedly, throwing her arms around Dean and Cas’ necks. In this moment, there is no place in the world that Dean would rather be.

And to think, it all started with a tree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not enough? I thought it might not be. Check back on New Year's for the epilogue.
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone!


	21. You Are My Sunshine [Epilogue]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's brings new beginnings, and fireworks have got nothing on Cas' smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an air of finality here that makes me tremble as I write this. For a year, my time has been classified either as "writing USV" or "the brief lapses of time in between writing USV." It's surreal to think that it's finally done, ribbon tied around it with a bow, never to be updated again.
> 
> Thanks enough could never be given to my friend Jayne, who's been around since USV was only a few months old, just learning to walk. Without her, I'd have never come up with half of this, and I surely wouldn't have had the encouragement needed to reach the end. There are not too many friends who you can call at one in the morning and say, "This is an emergency! Please help me come up with a sex position for these two men!"
> 
> And thanks to you, reader, if you've stuck with Ugly Sweater 'Verse until the very end.
> 
> Happy New Year's, everyone.

**Six Years Later**

“You know, normal kids ask for  _presents_  for Christmas,” Dean says, exasperated, running a hand through hair that now features the occasional strand of gray amongst the sandy brown. This sentiment is expressed between sips of imaginary tea from a teacup that is slightly too expensive for an 11-year-old, but whatever. Dean’s not exactly one to hold back when it comes to his daughter. He’s just happy that she still likes to play pretend even though she’s – Jesus  _Christ_  – two years away from being a teenager. Better still, he’s just happy she still wants to play pretend with  _him_. He’s spent countless afternoons here in the treehouse he and Cas built with their own hands, engaging in games of make-believe. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when those days end.

Lyric fixes Dean with a  _look_ , eyebrows raised, both hands on her hips. There’s so much of himself in her expression that Dean wants to laugh.

“Normal kids don’t have the most stubborn guy in the world for a papa,” she retorts with a huff, dramatically rolling her eyes.

This time, Dean does laugh.

“You sound like your dad,” Dean says with a quirk of his lips and fondness in his eyes.

Lyric, full of the sort of righteous indignation only 11-year-olds such as herself can muster up, crosses her arms across her chest, glaring in a way that really  _does_ resemble Cas. It’s not so much compelling as it is cute; Lyric is short for her age, and it’s comical to see so much attitude from someone so small.

“It’s all I want for Christmas, Papa,” she says with a sigh, glare fading into a resigned puppy face that melts Dean’s heart. He’s not sure if she learned that from Sam or Cas, but he rues the day she mastered it.

She leaves after that, footsteps on the wooden ladder of the treehouse sounding loud in her absence. Dean’s left alone holding an empty teacup, slouched against one wooden wall of the structure. He lets his head fall gently back and he closes his eyes, breathing in the cold December air. Lyric has been asking for this for years now, but always playfully, never with any real conviction. Dean figures the change is because she’s eleven now and fancies herself all grown up. The idea makes his heart ache a little, though, so he tucks it aside to be looked over again years from now, when she’s getting ready for prom.

He stays there for a long time, eyes closed, contemplating Lyric’s request. He wonders if this is the year he’ll finally do it. It scares him in the way that his retired guns and stray gray hairs scare him sometimes in the middle of the night when he lies awake thinking about his life. But these nights come few and far between, now, and Cas always gently brings him back to the here and now with quiet whispers and gentle kisses, and these things scare him less than they ever have. Seven years he’s been with Cas, six they’ve had Lyric. He tosses the idea around in his mind over and over until the sun has set and Cas is calling him in for dinner.

Once Dean is inside, he tugs Cas into the pantry by his stupid, adorable Christmas apron and shuts the door so he can kiss him hard without earning an  _“ew!”_ from Lyric. Much as Dean loves her, she’s definitely limited the amount of time Dean spends with his tongue in Cas’ mouth. Dean’s used to it by now, though, and he’s long since discovered the many places in their house where he can pull Cas away and kiss him senseless. It helps that their hours as owners of the diner they were once only employees at lend themselves accommodatingly to frequent sessions of hardcore sex. Dean couldn’t be more grateful that they have long stretches of time alone together while Lyric’s at school.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, smiling once their mouths part. Dean can’t help but grin; years and years later, Cas’ smile still makes him feel all silly and stupid like a scene from a chickflick. He has told Cas this only once, in a letter he wrote one night three years ago when they were fighting so bad Cas booked a motel room for three days, even though they have a spare bedroom on the first floor.

The makeup sex was awesome.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Dean says, sliding his arms around Cas’ waist and drawing him close. Cas makes a tiny contented sound and closes his eyes as Dean presses short kisses to his neck, letting his head roll back for a moment. He sighs deeply a moment later and pulls back, fixing Dean with a fond and sort of wistful look.

“I already told Lyric to wash up for dinner,” he tells Dean, who echoes Cas’ sigh and lets his grip on Cas fall slack. Cas brings his lips to Dean’s ear, smile playing at his lips.

“We’ll sleep in the guest bedroom downstairs tonight,” Cas whispers, which is code for  _tonight you are getting laid, Dean Winchester._ Dean still kinda wishes Cas could bend him over right here and have his way with him, but the promise is enough to sate him for now. They’ve got a kid, after all.

Reluctantly, Dean allows Cas to draw them away from the pantry and into the kitchen, where the tantalizing smell of food hangs heavy in the air. Dean pulls out plates and Cas pulls out cups and silverware and they serve dinner. Every now and then they have sit-down dinners at their long dining room table, but more often than not they bring their plates into the living room and eat on the couches because, well, old habits die hard.

Lyric’s in there watching the Discovery Channel, of all things, because she’s always been a kind of odd kid and she’s into stuff like that. Dean’s pretty sure that’s directly related to Cas, ‘cause Cas is obviously kind of odd himself. Dean has always found it endearing in Cas; in Lyric, it’s equally adorable. She lights up when she sees food, rushing to hug Cas, because he’s obviously the one who made it. Dinner is never courtesy of Dean unless it’s macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets or takeout.

They all settle into their couch and Dean and Lyric kick their feet up on the coffee table, much to Cas’ disapproval. Dean’s not one to deny himself simple pleasures, though, and he won that argument years ago. They settled on a cheap but sturdy coffee table to suit the need, even though they could easily afford a better one now. They keep it close enough to the couch that Lyric can prop her feet up, too.

“Is Uncle Gabe coming for Christmas this year?” Lyric asks after a bite of her burger, with a slight tilt of her head that is entirely  _Cas_. Dean groans.

“I hope not,” he mutters, earning a glare from both his boyfriend and his daughter.

“I don’t know,  _Aaan_ ,” Cas replies, using his Enochian pet name for her; he’s been teaching her the language of angels since she was small. “It is hard to tell with Gabriel.”

“He likes to show up unannounced,” Dean adds bitterly, remembering the last extremely inopportune time the stupid angel decided to show his face. Dean’s only into orgasm denial when it’s  _planned_ , and a surprise visit from his least favorite relative was not exactly how he’d intended to finish the night. Cas turns slightly pink at Dean’s comment and he’s clearly remembering the scene, too. Lyric looks curious but doesn’t say anything; she’s accustomed to their silent conversations and has given up trying to decode them.

“I hope so,” she says, and Dean can’t really blame her. She and Gabe get along swimmingly, particularly because he always comes bearing candy and presents. He likes to make fun of Dean and Cas behind their backs and bend reality in tiny ways for her amusement.

“Everyone else will be here,” Cas says, running a hand through her hair. “We’re spending Christmas here this year. Sam and Sarah, Bobby and Jody – and your cousins, of course.”

Lyric’s eyes light up.

“The twins!” she exclaims excitedly. Lyric dotes on the two identical four-year-olds, John and Rob, with all the enthusiasm of a child with a new puppy. She’s always asking for them when they’re gone. Dean supposes it has to do with an innate desire for siblings of her own – which, no, not happening ever. One kid is more than enough for him and Cas. She’ll have to be content with the toddlers and Sunshine, because as much as Dean loves her, he doesn’t think he can handle another.

“Yep, you guys can open your presents together,” Dean says, smiling as he pictures the flurry of torn wrapping paper and excited giggles.

“I’m so excited for Christmas,” she says happily, sighing around her next bite of food. She chews thoughtfully and stares at Dean the whole time, making Dean squirm under her laser eyes. She doesn’t speak til she swallows, good kid that she is.

“I hope you got a real good present for Daddy this year,” she says pointedly. Cas wrinkles his brow in confusion, tilting his head at Dean in question. Dean squirms under the combined intensity of both of their stares.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Dean finds himself saying, standing to his feet even though he knows his behavior is probably coming off as weird as hell to Cas. He takes his dish to the kitchen and then grabs his jacket from the coat closet, keys in hand.

“Going for a drive,” Dean says on his way out of the door. He makes sure he waves and smiles so they don’t worry, even if his stomach is in knots. Cas furrows his brow like he doesn’t quite believe him – and after seven years, Dean’s not exactly surprised by it. He drives until the road becomes a blur and the streetlights come few and far between. He thinks about Cas’ blue eyes and his dark messy hair and how his smile isn’t so small anymore. He thinks about Cas’ hands and the food he makes and Dean grips the steering wheel because feelings and choices are so  _hard_.

Dean thinks about where his life will be in a year, in five years, in twenty. That’s when he makes the decision, when it comes so clear and so  _obvious_ that Dean actually laughs at himself. He’s always going to be by Cas’ side. They’re partners in life,  _for_  life, and it’s about time Dean something official about it.

He has no idea where he is when he pulls over and takes out his phone. Sarah is on speed dial and she answers after two rings, and Dean takes a deep breath.

“Dean?” Sarah asks over the line, and he realizes he’s dialed and hasn’t said anything. He swallows.

“Hey Sarah,” he says, and he can practically hear her frowning over the line.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice full of concern.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling because  _okay_  doesn’t even cut it. He’s happy and excited and terrified and he doesn’t know how to convey this over the phone. He decides to just cut to the chase.

“I need you to help me plan my hypothetical New Year’s wedding,” he says in a rush, forcing the words from his mouth.

He has to hold the phone away from his ear because Sarah’s excited screaming might actually blow out his eardrums.

*

When Dean comes back from his drive, armed with epiphany, Cas is curled on the couch with a book, wearing a stupid Snuggie and looking cute as hell. Dean smiles at the sight, heart doing somersaults, and pictures the other man with a ring on his finger. He absently touches his own ring finger, smile broadening into a silly grin despite himself.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, closing the book around his thumb to keep his place.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says before briefly looking around the room. “Where’s Lyric?”

“I just put her to bed,” Cas says, tilting his head. “Don’t you know what time it is?”

Dean’s eyes dart to the large clock that hangs over their fireplace and breathes a guilty sigh. He hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten.

“I’m gonna go say goodnight,” Dean says, and Cas nods. Dean walks up the stairs and takes the first left, quietly opening the door to Lyric’s room. He finds her reading by the light of her nightlight and rolls his eyes and flicks on a lamp. She jumps and looks sheepish, caught up past her bedtime.

“Sorry, Papa – I just had to find out how Harry escaped the Dementor’s kiss,” she says in a rush, and Dean smiles and comes to sit by her bed, running a hand through her sandy brown hair.

“I don’t know anything about your nerdy wizards, Lee, but I figure they’re a pretty good reason to stay up past your bedtime. But no more than 15 minutes, okay?”

Lyric nods. Dean’s trying to figure out how to tell Lyric what he’s decided, but he’s at a loss for words. While he gathers his thoughts, he traces the Lyric’s only two freckles – one at the edge of her lip and one by her ear. She giggles, like she always does when he does this.

“You know what they say about freckles, right?” he asks, and of course she does. They’ve been through it a million times; it’s just a little script they go through, just the two of them. Lyric rolls her eyes but she’s grinning.

“They’re angel kisses,” she says wrinkling her nose when he pokes it gently. “That’s why you’ve got so many, ‘cause Daddy gives you so many kisses.”

“And you’ve got two,” Dean reminds her, and she nods happily.

“One from Daddy and one from my mama,” she says. Lyric doesn’t remember much of her mom, and thankfully seems to have mostly forgotten the fire – but she knows there was once a woman who loved her with all of her heart. Dean and Cas made sure of that. Dean’s comforted by the familiarity of their little exchange and his shoulders relax just the slightest.

“Y’know I love Cas a whole lot, right?” he says, and Lyric nods again, watching him with wide eyes like she’s hoping she knows what he’s about to say.

“Yeah ‘cause you look at him all funny all the time and he looks at you like that, too. That’s why I want you to  _marry_  him, Papa.” She sounds exasperated, and Dean laughs, stroking her hair again.

“That’s what I came to tell you,” Dean says, and she practically vibrates with excitement at the words. Dean can tell she’s holding her breath.

“I think your Christmas present is a really good idea, Lee. I’m gonna do it; I’m gonna ask Cas to marry me on Christmas. And… if he says yes, I wanna get married on New Year’s, at midnight. Because Cas is all into holidays like that.”

Lyric flings herself out of bed and throws her tiny arms around Dean’s neck, holding him so tight Dean’s choking a little.

_“Thank you thank you thank you,”_  Lyric says excitedly, like it’s some kind of personal present, and Dean wonders why he didn’t do this years ago.

*

The more Dean thinks about rings, the less he likes the idea.

Dean is impulsive. He says rash things in anger, he storms out during arguments and he’s still shit at feelings, even though he’s gotten better about them over the years. He can easily picture himself taking off his wedding ring in a show of defiance, only to later regret it. He doesn’t want their commitment to be something he can take off when he wants to. It should be as permanent as the handprint branded in his skin.

An idea strikes him one day when he gets home from work an hour before Cas, because they’ve hired a new chef and Cas doesn’t trust anyone to train him but himself. Dean’s in front of a mirror with his sleeve rolled up, ogling the mark Cas left in hell like he does sometimes when he wants to be awed or turned on or needs to put a situation in perspective. Most problems seem small when compared to a 40 year fight for Dean in hell. It is this moment that gives Dean an idea, and he goes for the bookshelf and grabs a phonebook, flipping the pages until he reaches the  _T_ section.

He calls three different places until he finds someone willing to humor his request. It has to be on Christmas, it’s  _imperative_  that it’s on Christmas. He’s ecstatic and thanks the man on the other end of the line profusely before hanging up. He wanders out of the room after that and into the living room, where Sunshine’s kept. He picks her up and cradles her in his arms before lying down on the bed facing the ceiling, grinning at the ceiling fan.

He can’t wait ‘til Christmas.

*

At the end of the night on Christmas, once the kids have worn themselves out in their frenzy of present-opening and playing with their gifts and are curled up in bed, Dean pulls Cas away from the small party of family members to kiss him under the mistletoe in their kitchen. Sam and Sarah call from the other room that they’ll be turning in for the night in the guest bedroom, and Bobby and Jody have already left for their hotel room. Thankfully, Gabriel only showed up for an hour or two, just long enough to bestow gifts and pester Dean. Lyric was ecstatic, which is the part that counts, but damn if the guy’s incessant innuendos aren’t trying.

The house feels strangely quiet even though it’s just past nine; everyone’s tired after waking up early with their kids. Dean, to the contrary, is abuzz with fluttering feelings because this is  _it._  Dean has probably had more life-defining decisions than most guys, but next to his choice to adopt Lyric, this one has him the most jittery.

… Well, maybe that and the whole Michael-vessel-apocalypse-free-will-whatever thing. But Dean likes to pretend that never happened.

“Dean, you’ve been acting strangely,” Cas points out as they hold each other under the mistletoe, and  _goddamn_ if Cas doesn’t know him well.

“Yeah I have,” Dean says, unable to fight a wide grin. Cas seems surprised that Dean admitted to it with such ease.

“Will you tell me why?” Cas asks, head tilted in confusion.

“I’ll show you,” Dean says, heart hammering against his ribcage. “Come with me.”

Cas doesn’t ask any further questions, just allows himself to be led by the hand to the coat closet. Dean helps Cas into his trench coat – which he  _still_  has, because he stubbornly refuses to replace it – before putting on his own jacket.

“Race you to the car,” Dean says on a whim, and Cas stares at him like he’s crazy. Dean darts off to the door and after a moment Cas just goes with it, chasing after him. Snow is falling in light flurries, which makes all this that much better. Cas catches up with him outside and grabs his hand, squeezing it before he gets into the passenger side of the car.

Dean loves that while Cas is curious, he doesn’t implore Dean for details. He likes surprises, and Dean’s grateful for it. They drive for a long while and Dean trusts that Cas has no idea where they’re going, especially in the dark. He’s headed for a specific place in Philadelphia. He debated between this place and a nice restaurant, but in the end he decided he wanted a place with no pretense and no audience. The light falling of snow makes it that much better; it’ll be covered in a faint brush of white by the time they get there.

When they’re about five minutes from their destination, Dean stops the car and asks Cas to put on a blindfold. Cas raises his eyebrows in question but makes no further comment before turning his head so that Dean can tie the dark fabric around his eyes. Then Dean drives the steep incline to where he’s taking Cas.

He parks the car and circles it to open the door for Cas. He leads his boyfriend by both hands and then stands behind him and removes the blindfold. Cas’ smile is big and his eyes are happy when he looks around, and then looks at Dean.

They’re at the upper plat of Belmont Plateau, which features a breathtaking, endless view of the city skyline. In the dark, the lights of so many skyscrapers shine like stars across the wide horizon. Around them the world is slowly but surely turning white, wide expanses of grass and trees blanketed in snow. Their breath comes out in little puffs of cold air, like white smoke in the night, and they are completely alone in all-encompassing quiet.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean whispers in Cas’ ear. Cas turns around and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, smiling wide in a way that years ago, he never could have.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas whispers back, gently resting his forehead against Dean’s.

Dean’s heart  _thunders_ , so fierce and loud that Dean wonders if Cas can hear it in light of all the silence, and he feels his mouth go dry. He closes his eyes as he takes several steadying breaths, and can feel Cas’ confused eyes on him. Dean’s never felt such an overwhelming combination of fear and excitement.

Finally, he bends on one knee and takes Cas’ hand.

“Dean,” Cas chokes out, mouth falling open, eyes wide. Dean kisses Cas’ hand and takes one last deep breath before he speaks.

“You know I’m not good with words,” he says, voice trembling and  _goddamn_ , is he seriously about to cry? “I’ve never been… y’know. Romance isn’t exactly my forte. But I love you, Cas. More than I ever thought I could love another person.”

 “I love you too, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean is comforted by the way Cas’ voice breaks, because that means Dean’s not alone in the whole about-to-cry thing.

“I, uh…” Dean laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair nervously. “I had this all planned out, man. I don’t remember the little speech I made up in my head.”

“It’s okay,” Cas says, hand closing around Dean’s.

“I should just get on with it,” Dean says, laughing again. He looks straight into Cas’ eyes, dark blue like the sky around them, and finally,  _finally_  asks.

“Cas, will you marry me?”

Cas blinks several times and then stares at the sky for a moment, rocking slightly on his heels, and for a brief, absurd moment Dean wonders if Cas is about to say no. But his fleeting fear proves to be unfounded, because in the next instant Cas is falling to his knees and hugging Dean hard, so hard they both fall to the ground and dirty their coats with snow and dirt. He kisses Dean with one hand on Dean’s face before he replies.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says, eyes wet with what looks suspiciously like tears.

And if Dean’s eyes are a little wet too, well, no one but Cas is around to see.

*

Cas and Dean hold hands the whole drive, which Cas probably assumes is going to take them home. Dean’s not quite finished with Cas yet, though. Dean thinks it’s hilarious that Cas probably hasn’t even  _thought_  about a ring; it like hasn’t even occurred to him. It makes him that much more excited for phase 2 of his proposal.

All the shops on city streets, even the ones typically open late, have their lights off and doors locked for the holiday. All, that is, except one. Cas’ expression when they park in front of the only lit shop on the block is one of intense confusion. He raises an eyebrow at Dean, who just grins and shrugs before climbing out of the car. Cas follows him inside, and the bell over the door rings when they walk in.

There’s a man sitting at the front desk reading a book. He’s in his mid-20s, thin with dyed black hair and skinny jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. His arms are covered in very well executed tattoos.

“You must be Dean,” the man says with an affable smile, dropping the book beside the cash register and walking around to shake his hand.

“And you’re… Simon, right?”

The guy nods.

“And this must be Cas,” he says, appraising Cas with that same easy smile. Cas doesn’t return the smile because he’s clearly very confused, and Cas isn’t one to feign emotion.

“I haven’t explained my idea to him yet,” Dean explains to Simon, whose smile fades just the slightest bit.

“Listen, man, I came out here on Christmas so that you and your fiancé could – ”

“Shh, shh, dude! Let me tell him. I’ll pay you either way,” Dean says quickly, and the guy visibly relaxes.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Simon says, picking up his book as he heads toward the back. “Just come in when you’re done,” he calls.

“I’m confused,” Cas tells Dean blankly. Dean takes Cas’ left hand in his and grips Cas’ ring finger.

“There should be a ring here,” he tells Cas, who looks at his own hand like this is dawning on him just now – which, yeah, probably not too far from the truth. Cas doesn’t say anything, though, just instinctively waits for Dean to continue.

“But, Cas… I’m stupid and impulsive and a ring could come off if I wanted it to. Or they can fall off and slip down drains or get lost and – and when I asked you to marry me, I was saying  _forever_. Something permanent. Something as lasting as my skin.”

Cas’ eyes go wide with understanding, and he looks around the room with more clarity than before.

“You want to get commitment tattoos,” Cas says slowly, and Dean rushes to correct any ideas of cheesy name tattoos in hearts inked on lower backs.

“I wanna get matching ring tattoos. A ring that won’t come off. Something symbolic, like…” Dean trails off, because he likes his idea so much he almost doesn’t want to know if it’ll sound dumb when he says it out loud.

“Like?” Cas insists, drawing the rest of the sentence out of Dean.

“Like – like a feather, maybe? Because, I don’t know, you…”

Cas’ expression melts to something fond and clearly moved, and he brings their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Dean’s hand.

“Because you are my wings,” Cas concludes, voice quiet, and Dean lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, because Cas  _gets_  it.

“And you’re mine,” Dean says, and he can feel his ears going pink, but he can’t stop grinning. Cas is smiling now, too.

“I can’t think of anything better to have etched on my skin for the rest of my life,” Cas says definitively, and without further ceremony he leads Dean by the hand to the back, where the tattoo artist waits for them.

The slight pain of needles in his skin is nothing compared to the rush of happiness he feels every time he thinks about how his boyfriend of seven years is now officially his  _fiancé._

*

Dean and Cas have a habit of making out in the back of the Impala like teenagers, and it’s after a particularly steamy – literally, the windows are fogged up – session of tongue and saliva swapping outside their house do they finally sit back and let the weight of the commitment they’ve made tonight. Cas looks at him with the sort of lazy casualness he only has when he’s been mouth-fucked, a faint smile on his lips.

“When should the ceremony be?” Cas asks, though he’s staring at Dean’s lips with such heat that Dean’s not even sure Cas’ mind is anywhere but the gutter. This would be a great night to take Cas into their bed and fuck him senseless, but Lyric comes into their bed at night sometimes, so they can’t do that anymore. The downstairs guest bedroom, their go-to place for sex, is currently inhabited by Sarah and Sam. He’s debating the pros and cons of just going at it right here in the car.

“Dean? We should choose a date for the ceremony,” Cas says again, bringing Dean out of his thoughts.

“Oh – I had an idea for that. You’re big on holidays, right? Maybe we should have a New Year’s wedding. At midnight, New Year’s Eve.”

Cas, to Dean’s surprise, looks slightly crestfallen.

“So, a year from now, then?” he asks, clearly trying to disguise his disappointment. Dean laughs, startling Cas.

“More like a week from now.”

“That soon?” Cas asks, mouth falling open and brows furrowing. “A week to plan a wedding… I suppose it could be done.”

“It might help that Sarah’s been planning it for like two weeks,” Dean adds offhand.

“Sarah – Sarah, excellent. Dean, you truly have moments of brilliance.”

“Only moments?” Dean asks, feigning offense.

“It’s a recurring phenomenon,” Cas says fondly. Dean’s thinking now is the time to initiate some under-the-shirt action and heat things up a little, but to his dismay Cas is getting up to get out of the car.

“Where are you going?” Dean whines, flopping back on the seat and watching Cas petulantly.

“To wake up Sarah,” Cas responds resolutely. “I have a week to make sure our wedding is perfect.”

Dean laughs to himself alone in the car, examining his fresh and sore tattoo, welcoming the butterflies in his stomach with open arms.

*

It’s no secret that Dean and Cas have a thing for Christmas trees, so it makes sense that the beginning of the rest of their lives would take place in a grove of pine trees. The snow, which has been steadily falling in light flurries since Christmas, creates a decidedly winter feel to the whole forest. Dean and Cas survey the area with Lyric beforehand, walking through the light blanket of snow huddled together as Lyric races ahead of them, tossing snow in the air and flopping herself down in it. The scene encompasses everything they’ve built their relationship off of.

Dean brings frozen lips to Cas’ ear and whispers, “It’s perfect,” cold breath tickling his fiancé’s ear.

“I thought so, too,” Cas says, turning and pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lips.

From 20 feet away in the middle of the clearing amongst the trees where the altar will be set up, Lyric shouts  _“eww!”_ with great enthusiasm, making Dean laugh and roll his eyes before pulling away.

“Married people kiss a lot, Lee!” Dean calls to her. “So basically, that was your fault.” She kicks up some snow, giggles echoing through the grove.

“You  _always_  kiss a lot!”

Cas raises his eyebrows and looks at Dean with a slight shrug.

“She does have a point,” he says with a mischievous smile, and he kisses Dean again. They’re interrupted by a snowball to their faces and another burst of giggles.

“Oh, it’s  _on_ ,” Dean says, scooping snow and forming a snowball. He chases after Lyric and Cas chases after him. Their impromptu snowball fight goes on until the cold has seeped to their bones and their teeth are chattering too hard to go on.

*

New Year’s Eve sneaks up on Dean, creeping around corners until it announces its presence with fanfare and drums in Dean’s chest. He’s been busy all week at work, training new hosting staff and balancing the restaurant’s finances. Cas has been working short hours because he’s been playing wedding planner with Sarah, leaving Dean to sub in as manager of the cooking staff as well. Dean doesn’t mind, but it does arrest most of his attention in the days leading up to the wedding. When the day finally comes, he’s taken aback. This is  _it_.

Dean’s in the kitchen early New Year’s Eve morning pouring himself a cup of coffee when Sarah arrives, leaning against the cabinet.

“So, Dean,” she says, and Dean narrows his eyes suspiciously, because something in her tone has him wary. This is Sarah’s mischievous,  _plotting_ tone.

“So, Sarah,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I was thinking about your tux, and I had this  _idea.”_

“Why do I have a feeling I’m not gonna like this idea?” Dean asks, crossing his arms. Sarah smiles wide.

“Oh, you’re gonna hate it. But Cas will love it, so you’re doing it.”

Dean sighs heavily, resigned to his fate, and listens to Sarah explain. She’s right – Dean really,  _really_  hates this idea.

*

Their wedding party is small compared to Sam and Sarah’s big blowout. The extent of their friends and family are just the usual – Bobby, Jody, Sarah, Sam and the kids. Still, it’s not like Cas to anything celebratory halfway, and Dean’s excited to see what Cas comes up with for their tiny ceremony. He’s been pretty silent about the whole thing, brushing off all Dean’s inquiries, eager for everything to be a surprise. Two hours before the ceremony, Dean still doesn’t know if he’s taking the Impala or a limousine. All he knows is that he’ll be riding with Sam, Bobby and Lyric, and Cas will be riding with Sarah, Jody and the twins.

They’re following the tradition of not seeing each other all dressed up until the actual ceremony, even if there’s no big bridal dress to unveil and they’ve seen each other in tuxes before. Dean’s allowed to see Lyric, though, who has been bouncing around in her flower girl dress since 8pm, even though the ceremony concludes at midnight, when the new year begins. She looks adorable and almost as excited as Dean. She keeps asking to be picked up and spun around because she likes how the little white dress spins around, and thankfully she’s still small enough that Dean can oblige with ease.

When 10pm rolls around, Sam, Dean and Bobby get ready in the guest room, fastening buttons and tying ties… all save for Dean, who is trying to maintain his dignity as his brother and surrogate father snicker at him over his wedding attire.

“It’s for Cas, okay?” he says, looking anywhere but at them.

“Yeah, we know,” Sam says, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk.

“You still look like an idgit,” Bobby says gruffly, not bothering to conceal his amusement.

There’s a knock at the door and then Sarah opens the door, looking beautifully done up in her bridesmaid dress. It’s white and sleeveless, bunched at the top and flows out in a whirl when she walks. It’s accented with a thin black sash around the waist so she’ll match the two groomsmen and Cas. Dean thinks the gorgeous look of her his appropriate for the snowy ceremony, though he’s afraid she’ll freeze in it.

She’s also holding a small bouquet of sunflowers, white daisies and baby’s breath, and as soon as Dean sees it, he understands why Cas chose those flowers, and knows that the decision was Cas’ alone. Sunflowers –  _sunshine_. Because Cas is Dean’s sunshine. Dean’s blown away by the tiny detail and makes a note to mention his awe to Cas later.

“You look amazing, Dean,” she says, grinning so hard it’s got to be hurting her face. She crosses the room to hug him, the heels of her white lace boots clicking as she goes, and when she pulls back he sees that her eyes are full of tears. She bats them away, embarrassed, and Dean looks at his feet because he is so not going to start crying, too.

“I look dumb,” he says, going for humor, but Sarah just shakes her head resolutely.

“Don’t listen to these jerks. Anyway – just came to tell you that our rides are here. Wait a minute or two before you go out, so Dean and Cas won’t see each other.” She winks at Sam and Bobby, who clearly know what’s going on more than Dean, and then she’s gone, leaving the three of them alone in the room.

“I’ll get Lyric,” Dean says, and slips out of the room to cross the hall to Lyric’s room. He finds her sitting in front of her toy box with two dolls, mumbling under her breath as she acts out their parts. From what Dean can hear, the dolls are getting married, too. Her puffy white dress flows out around her where she sits, looking like an angel. Dean’s  _other_  angel.

“Ready to go, kiddo?” he asks her, and she spins around with a smile on her face. Her eyes go wide when she sees what Dean’s wearing.

“Oh, Papa, Daddy’s gonna  _love_  it,” she says, racing over to him – and goddamn, Dean sure as hell hopes so. There is no person on this planet other than Cas he would wear this for. His classic slacks and shoes are no big deal, but what Dean’s wearing in lieu of the rest of the tux has him terrifically embarrassed.

It’s an ugly sweater, the first one Dean has  _ever_  worn in the entire course of their relationship, despite how often Cas has asked him to. It’s knit and bright red, and the front features the cheesiest excuse for a tuxedo replica Dean’s ever seen. It’s like those dumb tuxedo shirts teenagers like to wear, but so, so much worse. For one thing, it’s green instead of black, which combines with the red for a very obnoxious, obvious display of “look, Christmas!” There’s a fake bow tie instead of a tie, and the sleeves have Christmas tree decals. All this, coupled with the fact that Sarah has already confirmed that Cas is going the traditional tux route for the wedding, makes Dean feel like a total idiot.

Seeing Lyric’s excitement, though, makes him just the slightest bit more confidant. He leads her by the hand through the hall and Sam and Bobby join him on their way down the stairs. Dean’s not sure what he’s expecting when he opens the front door, but it’s definitely  _not_  the two horse-drawn carriages standing at attention on the street in front of their house. His mouth falls open and Lyric hops up and down excitedly. The carriages are the old-fashioned kind, covered with doors on either side so that they can stay warm on their trip – and so Dean can’t get a glimpse of Cas. If he knows Sarah, she’s probably on the window side, blocking Cas’ view of Dean as well.

The brief trip to the pine grove is fun, and Lyric spends most of the time sticking her head as far out the window as Dean will allow, looking at the horses and catching falling snow on her tongue. No one talks much, because Dean’s too damn nervous to start conversation and everyone seems to get that. Everyone but Lyric, that is, who chatters the whole way about Cinderella’s horse-drawn carriage and magic and happily ever after, and how  _happy_ she is to finally see her fathers married.

As they near the clearing where the ceremony will take place, Sam explains the way it will be held. The small size of it is a little unorthodox, and the lack of bride further complicated it, but Sarah and Cas managed to come up with a decent gameplan. The carriages will take them to either side of the altar, and the short “processional” will start from there. Sam says the rest will be pretty self-explanatory at that point.

Dean can tell when they’ve arrived first by the lights. He’s not looking out of the window at first, but there’s glimmering in the corner of his eye that catches his attention and then he leans his head out the window. The sight he’s greeted with as the horses trot ever closer makes him lose his breath for a moment. Once he recovers he gives a low whistle. Beside him, Sam, Bobby and Lyric are all squishes up to the windows, too, and clearly they’ve never seen anything like it, either.

Their humble, snowy forest clearing has been transformed into something from a fairytale. The ground is covered in square paper lanterns that provide the only light for the area, so many that it hardly seems dark at all. Hanging by ropes from surrounding trees are little glass jars, each with a candle in it, that glow like bottle fairies. String lights are strung from tree to tree and around the altar itself, which is little more than a construction of long branches and twisting vines that Dean thinks they might have made themselves. The snow gives everything a sort of ethereal glow, and Dean is speechless.

The carriages pull up to either side of the altar, where a man in a tux that Dean recognizes as the young ginger minister that conducted Sam and Sarah’s wedding stands, and Dean’s nerves set in again, heart pounding wildly in his chest like a caged animal, stomach knotting up. The moment is here, and at once it is too soon and long overdue. The door of the carriage on the opposite side of the altar opens and Sam opens theirs. Music plays, and for a moment Dean has no idea from  _where_ , but then he spies the top of a stereo hidden in an unlit paper lantern, and doesn’t doubt that Sarah’s got a remote tucked away in their carriage somewhere.

Dean’s relieved that the music playing isn’t the standard  _Here Comes the Bride_  tune that most wedding feature, for more than one reason. For one, Cas is not his bride, nor he Cas’, and two – Dean  _hates_  that song. Instead, it’s a pretty piano cover of… something familiar, and it takes Dean until Sam and Sarah are halfway to their positions for Dean to realize what it is. When he does, he has to cover his eyes with the palms of his hand for a brief moment because the song playing is  _You Are My Sunshine_.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” he whispers, scarcely audible, because Cas is killing him here. Dean was all set to not cry, and then Cas had to choose this damn song. There are no words to the piano tune, but Dean can hear them clearly in his head, can remember himself singing them sleepily to Cas some mornings when he’s feeling especially sentimental.  _You make me happy when skies are grey._

Bobby gives Dean a squeeze on the shoulder and a wink on his way out of his carriage, just as Jody leaves the other one. They join Sarah and Sam on either side, and all that’s left are Lyric and the twins. There’s no actual ring for the boys to bear, but they figured their wedding wouldn’t be complete without the two shaggy-haired kids as part of the ceremony.

“You’re gonna be okay, Papa,” Lyric tells him quietly, planting a kiss on his forehead as she stands, no longer small enough to need carrying the whole way anymore. She throws flowers, and Dean notes with vague amusement that the boys are throwing confetti on the opposite side. Once Lyric has joined the short line of bridesmaids and the twins have joined the groomsmen, it’s Dean and Cas’ turn to walk. His hands feel clammy as he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and steps out. When he looks up, Cas is standing in front of the other carriage, and he’s beautiful.

Cas’ tux is white and his pants and tie are black. It’s tailored to him perfectly, hugging his body in all the right ways. His hair has been styled into elegant spikes, which Dean knows Cas could have never accomplished himself. Dean feels tragically underdressed in comparison, but when he sees the look on Cas’ face, his doubts ease. Cas has one hand clamped over his mouth, eyes wide, and even from here Dean can see that he’s crying. Dean takes another steadying breath and forces himself to walk, and he sees Cas do the same.  They meet in the middle on either side of the young pastor, eyes locked on each other.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, like he’s never been to a wedding before or something, and Dean has to laugh just the slightest bit, smiling all the while.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says.

They both look at the minister then, who raises his hands in a gesture of mock surrender.

“Hey, I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation,” he jokes, earning laughter from the rest of the tiny wedding party, and Dean remembers why he liked the guy all those years ago.

“I think we’re good now,” Dean says, winking at Cas. Cas nods in agreement and the pastor smiles.

“Good. Now, at these things I usually give a big speech about the meaning of love and marriage, about commitment and trials… but you guys are already there, aren’t you? Together, you’ve raised a beautiful little girl. Over all these years, you’ve surely weathered trials and tribulations, but even after fights and butting heads... look where you’ve ended up. Right here, at this altar, ready to pledge yourselves to each other forever. I don’t need to tell you the meaning of marriage, because you’ve been there and back.”

Dean thinks about the weight of the words this man is saying – thinks of how this guy will never know how true it is. It’s crazy to think that the first time they met, Dean stuck a knife in Cas’ chest. Now, nothing in the world could come between them. They endured and averted the apocalypse together, weathered Cas’ descent into humanity and worked through so many of Dean’s issues. It makes sense that they’re here, now; there was never any other option.

He tries not to make a big deal of wiping away the treasonous tear that has slipped down his face.

“That said, I think we should leave you two to your vows, huh? You both can probably say it all better than I can.”

Cas nods and looks at Dean in a quick, silent conversation to ask who should go first. Dean nods at him slightly because he’s still trying to collect himself. Cas nods back and then bites his lip, looking at the ground before looking back at Dean. Their vows aren’t neat and practiced like Sam and Sarah’s; Dean has no idea what Cas is about to say, and vice versa.

“I would go to hell and back for you again, and again, and again. I would fall harder and harder every time. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Dean. I vow to follow you wherever you go and love you as I have always loved you, for the rest of our lives and eternity.”

Dean swallows hard, speechless, cursing the wetness in his eyes. He keeps staring at Cas, though, couldn’t break eye contact for the world.

“My vow is… kind of dumb, I guess,” Dean says with an awkward chuckle, and Cas smiles at him so fondly that Dean almost forgets what he’s saying. He tries again. “Like I said when I proposed, I’m bad with words. I say things I don’t mean and I’m kind of an asshole sometimes. But… you’ve stuck with me, man. You always read between the lines and say what I can’t. I… I vow to try every day to make you as happy as you make me. I vow to let you drive, sometimes, and to try not to hog the covers. Above all, I vow to love you, and only you, forever. Sickness, health, etc etc. I’m yours, man. I love you. And… yeah,” Dean finishes lamely, ears burning with blush and very acute embarrassment.

Dean figures it’s probably against the rules of marriage and stuff to hug each other before the ceremony’s over, but he and Cas were never one for rules, anyway. Cas hugs Dean tight, burying his face in Dean’s neck before he seems to think better of it and steps back, hands falling to his sides. The minister raises his eyebrows and grins.

“Yeah, I had a feeling they could say it better. Let’s finish this thing, shall we? Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Cas nods, eyes fixed on Dean. “I do.”

“And do you, Dean Winchester, take Castiel to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Dean speaks with absolute certainty, nodding resolutely. “I do.”

The minister pauses for a moment, which Dean finds weird, and glances somewhere behind Cas’ head. Then he continues, smiling.

“I now pronounce you partners for life. You may both now kiss your new husband.”

And they do, Dean with a hand on Cas’ face and Cas with a hand behind Dean’s neck. Just then, what sounds like an  _explosion_  goes off, and the clearing is lit up with pink for a moment. When Dean looks up at the sky, he realizes why the pastor hesitated – he was waiting ‘til the very end of the New Year’s Eve countdown. The New Year is here, and the sky above them is alive with a frenzy of fireworks to welcome it, colors bursting forth on a canvas of dark sky and endless stars. They kiss again, with a chorus of fireworks bursting above them, and there is a sort of blissful eternity in the moment, something that is truly  _magic_  about their first few kisses as married men.

Somehow or another, the kids end up with sparklers and are running around with them, somehow full of energy despite how late it is. It’s far too cold to have the reception out here, and with so few people, it wouldn’t make sense to anyway. The plan is to go out to eat all together at a nice restaurant– but not before  _one_  last thing. Sarah calls for their first dance as husbands, and everyone quiets to watch. Dean takes Cas hand and brings Cas close to the center of the clearing. He doesn’t know what song is going to play, but he’s prepared for it to tug at his heartstrings, because it’s Cas who chose it.

Sure enough, Dean has to close his eyes and press his head against Cas’ forehead when the opening notes play. Cas smiles and starts them moving, because Dean has seemingly forgotten to how to dance. Dean can hear Cas singing along under his breath, and he can’t help but join in quiet whispers.

_“Hey, Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad song, and make it better,”_ they both sing along, nearly inaudible because they’re both awful at singing. Dean remembers the first time he caught Cas singing this to himself, long after he’d explained how his mom used to sing it to him as a lullaby. It was one of a million moments Dean realized just how impossibly in love he is.

_“Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.”_

Dean’s life has been getting better ever since he let Cas in, and he knows that never in a million years could he have been this happy without Cas. He looks around the snow-dipped forest and chuckles to himself because it’s so  _fitting_  that their new life starts here, surrounded by frosty, towering pines.

Because, again… it all started with a tree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS:  
> There is a Pinterest page for their wedding, but I didn't want to spoil anything for you by linking it at the beginning.
> 
> http://pinterest.com/nerdylittledude/usv-epilogue/


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